The Room of Lost Dreams
by Mundungus42
Summary: In the aftermath of the final battle, Hermione seeks a way to make peace with the dead. She finds a hidden room, an enchanted journal, and the opportunity to save a man's life. SSHG
1. Chapter 1

**Warnings: **EWE, some lemony content

**Disclaimer: **© 2007 Mundungus42. All rights reserved. This work may not be archived, reproduced, or distributed in any format without prior written permission from the author. This is an amateur non-profit work, and is not intended to infringe on copyrights held by J.K.Rowling or any other lawful holder. Permission may be obtained by e-mailing the author at mundungus42 at yahoo dot com

**Author's Notes:** Written for the winter 2007 round of the SSHG Exchange on Livejournal for Maliciouspixie5, who gave me the following promt: As a youth, Snape enchanted his Potions journal to ensnare Lily. It didn't work until years later when it got Hermione instead. Just use your imagination- this can go anywhere.

o0o

_She stood atop the Astronomy Tower and gazed down at the field of battle below. One by one, her friends were felled by curses or mauled by monsters, until there was nobody left but her._

'We have triumphed!' crowed Voldemort, his magically amplified voice cutting through the din. Across the battlefield, black-robed men and women raised their fists and cried out their support.

The voices seemed to fade as the spirits of the dead began to rise from the corpses strewn across the lawn. They rose like a silver mist, dozens of dead faces and hands reaching skyward, toward what she was unable to determine. Perhaps heaven, perhaps others among the dead, perhaps seeking in mute anguish the point of it all.

Suddenly her reality shifted, and instead of reaching out to the sky the spectral hands were reaching for her. She raised her arm, in part to deflect them and in part to keep from looking at the disappointed and envious faces of those who had died.

She lowered her arm and found herself facing the spirits of Harry and Ron. Her eyes filled with tears.

'Don't cry, Hermione,' said Ron, who looked ready to cry himself. 'We'll be together again someday.'

'Yeah,' agreed Harry. 'Don't feel bad for us. We're getting out. You're the one who's going to have to deal with the world under Voldemort's rule.'

Ron winced. 'What'd you say his name for?' he demanded.

'Weasley, you and Potter are dead,' came a sardonic voice from behind them. The shade of Severus Snape stood before her, his neck streaked with silvery blood. 'The Ministry is no longer tracking your taboo words. And I hope you're happy now, Miss Granger.'

Outrage overcame fear. 'What are you talking about? I didn't want this!'

Snape's ghost smirked at her. 'You always wanted definitive proof that Divination is rubbish. The Dark Lord has given you just that.'

'This isn't real,' she said firmly. 'This is a nightmare. We won, you see, but loads of people died. I don't think I'm taking it too well.'

He smirked at her. 'Welcome to the world of the traumatised survivor, Miss Granger,' he said. 'You may take comfort that your visit here will be of short duration.'

'Is that a threat?'

'No, Miss Granger,' he said with a sigh. 'It's time for you to wake up.'

Every muscle in Hermione's body clenched, and she jerked into wakefulness, covered in sweat.

She immediately threw back the covers in an attempt to cool her overheated flesh and sighed as the night air hit her skin. Her bed in the infirmary was closest to the open window. The spring breezes carried with them the smells of the forest and blooming flowers but also the sulphurous tang of the day's battle. If the nearby duet of snores was any indication, Ron and Harry were fast asleep.

Despite having sent all the other wounded off to St. Mungo's, Madam Pomfrey had insisted that they spend the night in the infirmary. Hermione was profoundly grateful not to have to answer any questions about Voldemort's demise just yet. However, it seemed that her conscience was not deterred by Madam Pomfrey's insistence that they rest undisturbed.

She slid out of bed and carefully opened the infirmary door just wide enough to slip through. The moon was visible from the corridor windows, and she found herself winding down the hallway between patches of moonlight.

She knew that no teachers would be about; she'd overheard Professors Sprout and McGonagall describing the last time the Hogwarts staff had reason to celebrate, which involved cleaning Madam Rosmerta out of mead and Professor Flitwick somehow collecting a pair of knickers from every female staff member. She wondered how anybody could be celebrating tonight.

She paused by the window and gazed out over the lawn, where Ministry officials were cataloguing and removing the dead. Given the scope of the battle, they would be at the task for quite some time. Moving lights behind the windows of the Great Hall led her to conclude that efforts were still underway to stabilise parts of the castle that had been damaged, in spite of its ancient magical protections.

Hermione wondered if they'd fixed the wall that had collapsed on Fred Weasley or cleaned where Lavender Brown had fallen. Hogwarts had stood for a thousand years and would likely stand for thousands more, but its hallowed halls were now stained with blood, and she feared it would never feel safe to her again.

Hermione found that her feet had carried her to a familiar tapestry with dancing trolls. She smiled ruefully at the blank wall where the Room of Requirement's door had appeared to her so many times before.

The Room was another safe place that had been violently taken from her. She felt very foolish for not having understood that the room wasn't just there because she needed it, it was there for anyone, regardless of their intentions. Apparently, Neville and the rest of Dumbledore's Army had learned from her mistake, but she knew the error had been one of the causes for Sirius's death.

She knew that she was not entirely to blame, but she couldn't help but imagine how the night might have been different if they hadn't been caught by the Inquisitorial Squad that night. Harry might have had the sense to search Grimmauld Place for Sirius instead of taking Kreacher's word for it that he was gone. Powerful Order members might have taken the Death Eaters by surprise without bloodshed.

Silent tears began running down her face as she wondered how the previous day's battle would have been different if she'd thought to check the Room of Hidden Things for the diadem first, or if she'd been brave enough to use Fiendfyre to destroy the Horcruxes, or if she hadn't broken Harry's wand. Perhaps Hogwarts never would have been attacked. How many more would be alive today if she'd been smarter and more determined? She sank down against the wall by the portrait and cried, her entire body wracked with silent sobs.

She wished fervently that there were some way to make amends to the victims of her stupidity.

No sooner had the thought formed in her mind than a soft scraping sound came from across the hall. She lifted her head and was surprised to see a door in the opposite wall. It wasn't the brass-finished oak of the Room of Requirement, or the ancient ironwood of the Room of Hidden Things. Instead, this door's fixtures were made of metal that was so dark a silver that it was nearly blue.

Too surprised to cry any longer, Hermione lifted the latch and opened the door.

o0o


	2. Chapter 2

See Chapter One for Disclaimers.

o0o

She entered an enormously tall room whose walls were lined floor to ceiling with bookshelves, except for one gap where a handsome fireplace stood. A single wing chair sat by the fire next to a table with a reading lamp. Several books had been stacked on the table.

The shelves contained books of every size and colour sorted by publication date, if the brass signs on the shelves were correct. She was surprised to realise that she didn't recognise any of the titles, though there were occasionally authors whose names she knew from History of Magic, such as _Professional Lute-Playing_ by Helga Hufflepuff. As she continued examining books' spines, Hermione began to get an inkling of the room's purpose, but it wasn't until she came across _Dumblewald's Magical Confectionary_ by Albus Dumbledore that she began to understand what she was seeing.

The room was a repository for wishes and dreams. To test her theory, she pulled _Holyhead Harpies' First Male Seeker_ by Sirius Black from the shelf and began to read.

_Though they both rode Cleansweeps and played for the same team, there was no question in Gwenog's mind which of the young Gryffindors bore further consideration. While James Potter struck amusing poses before throwing the Quaffle through the scoring hoop, to the sighs and screams of the female students, she only had eyes for the dark-haired boy- no, she corrected herself- the dark-haired man flying far overhead. His flying didn't have the flash and dash of Potter's. He was economical and spare, not one turn wasted, like a bird of prey. She found it hard to believe that he was Gryffindor's reserve seeker, who was playing today while the regular Seeker was in detention. She concluded that he must be a modest, serious sort of player, not the kind to showboat and flirt, but rather to do what was needed in order to win. Gwenog could respect that._

Suddenly, there it was- a flash of gold by the Slytherin scoring hoops. The announcer had seen it too and shouted its position into his microphone. Two dark blurs descended upon it while the audience screamed their support. The Snitch was not to be caught so easily. It led the Seekers on a merry chase around the stands, through the goal posts, and finally up into the sky so high that they were barely visible.

James Potter ignored the spectacle and flexed his muscles after making a particularly fine score. He scowled when nobody cheered and looked up to see what they were watching. Gwenog was holding her breath.

Was it her imagination, or were the tiny dots overhead getting larger? Sure enough, the Snitch was leading the Seekers back down to earth in a large corkscrew. Gwenog knew from her time with the Holyhead Harpies that the Snitch never continued in one direction for very long. What often separated the good Seekers from the great ones was their ability to anticipate when the Snitch would veer off and what its new direction would be. Was this Gryffindor merely good?

As if in answer to her question, the Snitch broke out of its downward spiral and zoomed off towards the crowd. The Gryffindor came with it, but the Slytherin continued spiralling and realised too late that he was much closer to the ground than he anticipated. A sympathetic groan ran through the crowd. The Slytherin Seeker must have crashed, but Gwenog's eyes were on the Gryffindor. His fingers were reaching out towards the Snitch.

Gwenog gasped as she realised that both Snitch and Seeker were headed directly toward her. Would he be able to catch it before crashing into the stands? Time seemed to slow. The Seeker's fingers closed around the Snitch, and he pulled up hard on his broomstick, changing direction no more than two metres away from her. The turbulence from his prior trajectory swirled deliciously around her, and she found herself cheering wildly with the rest of the Gryffindors.

Time seemed to return to normal, and the announcer's words rang through the stadium. 'BLACK HAS THE SNITCH! BLACK HAS THE SNITCH! GRYFFINDOR WINS, THREE HUNDRED TO SEVENTY! THE QUIDDITCH CUP IS GRYFFINDOR'S! WHAT AN AMAZING CATCH FROM THE RESERVE GRYFFINDOR SEEKER!'

The man in question had landed on the pitch and was being mobbed by his teammates and the other members of his house. The stands slowly emptied, and the crowd around Black began to dissipate. He modestly accepted their congratulations, but he did not join the procession back to the castle, presumably to celebrate the brilliant victory. Instead, he headed towards the showers.

Gwenog slid beneath the bleachers and surreptitiously followed him. Merlin, but fantastic catches made her hot. She and Black had much to discuss.

Hermione pulled herself from Sirius's narrative with a start. Her cheeks were flaming as she skimmed the rest of the book, which involved an extremely steamy encounter in the showers and creative use of a wash flannel. The next chapter seemed to be about a terribly rude hazing ritual for new members of the Holyhead Harpies, and the third was another post-victory shower scene, but this one involved the entire team. The story ended with a warm domestic scene of Sirius at Grimmauld Place with the Harpies. Gwenog and both Beaters were great with Sirius's progeny, a dozen other new additions to the Ancient and Noble House of Black cavorted around their mothers and father, and everyone was happy.

Hermione would have been uniformly revolted if she hadn't realised how sad it was that  
Harry's godfather had desperate and ultimately futile fantasies about continuing the Black name. She also thanked her lucky stars that she hadn't started reading _Dumblewald's Magical Confectionary_. But she felt as though she understood why these particular dreams were shut away in a secret room. These dreams were dead, and would never be fulfilled.

Anxious to test her hypothesis, she continued perusing the shelves. She was relieved to find that not all of the books were sexual in nature or as detailed as Sirius's fantasy. For instance, Regulus Black hoped one day to find the cherished stamp collection he accidentally left in Diagon Alley when he was fourteen. Remus Lupin had once wanted to be Head Boy. Obviously, that wish never came true.

When she neared the end of her circuit, she noticed something odd about the final bookshelf- its books were moving. No, that wasn't quite right. They were disappearing and reappearing, blinking in and out of existence at a blinding rate, so quickly that she couldn't quite see their titles.

Of course. If the rest of room housed dead dreams, this shelf likely contained the dreams of the living, or at least dreams that were still alive. As long as there was a possibility that the dream could come true, it could not be confined to the room. And suddenly it all made sense. She had expressed a desire to make amends to the dead, and now she had a way to ensure at least some of their secret wishes came to pass.

The only problem was that the static stacks of books contained dreams that had died, and short of stealing a Time-Tuner, it was impossible for her to change that. She would need to search among the improbable but living dreams until she found one that would be of use. She turned again to the moving shelf, held out her hand, and seized the first book her fingers touched. 

_Having a Better Broomstick than William Beardsley_ by Cyril Pennifold. No, that wouldn't do. She put it back on the shelf, and it disappeared a moment later.

_Getting Invited to Janice Morley's Birthday Party_ was the next volume, followed by _Telling My Boss to Get Stuffed_, _GURG GRAWP GETS GOATS_, and _Running Off With Gwenog Jones to a Deserted Island Far Enough Away Not to Hear My Wife Nagging About the Washing Up_. Hermione was beginning to wonder if there shouldn't be an entire section devoted to fantasies about Gwenog Jones.

_Nine N.E.W.T.s_ was next, written by Romilda Vane. That was pure fantasy as far as Hermione was concerned, given that the girl spent more time thinking about boys than she did her homework. And finally, _Teddy: Not Always Knocking Things Over Like Me_ by Nymphadora Tonks. Hermione made a mental note to talk to Tonks's mum about getting Teddy into dancing lessons as soon as he was old enough.

She put the book back on the shelf and grinned. She knew it was silly to feel cheered by resolving to bring about Tonks's dream of having a graceful son, but it felt like a weight was lifting from her shoulders.

She stood in front of the shifting shelf once again and began pulling out titles: _Being More Famous than Celestina Warbeck_, _Losing My Virginity on the Knight Bus_, _Gringotts Accidentally Putting a Million Galleons in My Account_, and _Buggering Draco Malfoy in Detention While Being Spied on by Professor-_, which went back on the shelf before she could finish reading the title, much less the author.

It was then that she wondered whether grabbing random fantasies was a good idea. She knew she'd be horrified if someone else had unlimited access to her fantasies and dreams. What if she came across something she'd rather not know?

As she gazed at the books that buzzed tantalizingly before her, a thought occurred to her. If the room could grant her access because of her wish to help the dead, surely it could help her locate specific dreams.

She closed her eyes and thought very hard about Fred Weasley, willing one of his dreams to come to her. When she opened them, she was slightly disappointed to find that the books were still flickering in and out of the shelf. She closed her eyes and focused harder on her wish to help victims of Voldemort's campaign. She turned in circles for good measure and extended her hand. Her fingers closed on a book

_Everyone Loves My Pussy_ by Argus Filch.

Hermione scowled and threw it back on the shelf. It winked cheekily out of existence. It was then that the stack of books on the reading table caught her eye. Chiding herself for not having looked at them sooner, she sat in the chair, turned on the reading light, and began examining the titles.

Eureka.

_Not Being a Werewolf_ by Remus Lupin. Well, curing Lycanthropy might take some time. _Three Chasers, Two Beaters_ by Fred Weasley. Honestly, did Gryffindor boys have fantasies that didn't involve Quidditch? She continued through the stack, perusing more dreams by Fred and Remus until she found _Make George a Fantastic New Ear_ and _Improve Werewolf Standing through Lobbying and Otherwise Being a Pain in the Arse_, both of which sounded like dreams she could accomplish with a bit of metallurgic research, a few letters and Replicating Charms. She set the books on the other side of the table and intended to get to the bottom of the stack, but she paused. It was a terrible temptation to simply read, especially if it meant finding out what kind of ear Fred thought George should have. The Weasleys were planning a memorial service in two days' time. She was confident that she could come up with something by then.

Hermione shifted in her seat. The chair wasn't nearly as comfortable as it looked. She stood and lifted the seat cushion, intending to fluff it, and was surprised to find an unmarked black leather notebook beneath the cushion. Unlike the other books in the room, it didn't proclaim its title or author.

She began flipping through the pages, and a cold feeling washed over her as she realised that it was completely blank. The book fell from her shaking fingers and fell open on the floor. 

She frowned, irritated by her irrational fear. There were dozens of reasons for the book to be blank that didn't involve Horcruxes. It could be written in Invisible Ink. It might be enchanted to reveal its contents only to the owner. It could have even been provided by the room for the purpose of note taking, since she strongly suspected that the dreams only had physical form in the room.

She attempted to finish Remus's instructions for being an arse, but she realised that she was reading the same paragraph over and over. She would be able to absorb no further dreams, and the black book was still lying innocently on the floor, practically begging to be investigated. Though perhaps not tonight.

Satisfied that she had wishes sufficient to alleviate her conscience for a while, Hermione tucked the black book under her arm and left the room. The door disappeared as soon as it closed, leaving Hermione alone in the moonlit hallway.

One of the trolls in the tapestry waved merrily at her as she passed on her way back to the Hospital Wing. However, she soon found that going to sleep was the last thing on her mind. What she needed was a bath. Madam Pomfrey's Cleansing Charms only went so far, especially when one had been in hiding for months. She had towels and toiletries in her beaded bag, by her bed in the Hospital Wing. Hermione wasted no time in retrieving it. She prayed that they hadn't changed the Prefect's Bath password in the past year.

o0o


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer in Chapter One.

o0o

Bliss. The password hadn't changed, or else the gargoyle had been knocked silly, and Hermione was floating in a tub of lilac-scented water, allowing the pain and soreness to drain out of her body. It had been so long since she had been properly alone and able to let her body relax.

Unaccustomed as it was to stillness, her mind was still spinning, weighing the pros and cons of various materials for George's new ear, making a list of libraries to peruse for her werewolf project, wondering if Muggle martial arts might be a better choice for Teddy, and half wishing she had looked to see who wanted to bugger Draco Malfoy in detention.

Finally, her thoughts turned to the mysterious black book. Her body and mind felt refreshed by the soak, and it seemed a shame to waste her privacy. She paddled over to the edge of the pool where her bag lay. After drying her hands on a towel, she pulled the book from the bag and laid it open on the edge of the tub.

She waved her wand. '_Specialis Revelio!_'

The book was instantly enveloped in a purple glow. Odd, it was supposed to be red if the book was cursed or blue if the magic on it was neutral. How could it be both? Her speculation was broken by a flare of light from her spell, which formed a ghost image of the book opening, and a pen writing it.

So the magic would be activated when the book was open and written in. The final part of the spell was supposed to show what the magic did, but the book began to tremble. Then, it began to shake, and before she knew it, it was clattering around the rim of the tub. Finally, the book flipped up on its spine and made a frantic flapping motion with its cover, and Hermione's spell disappeared with an audible poof.

The book, radiating smugness, lay open before her, pages rustling innocently as the book settled into stillness.

So much for Invisible Ink.

Still, it didn't look like any of the Horcruxes she'd seen. Voldemort's were blindingly red when she cast the charm on them, and she couldn't imagine any split soul would be even particularly benevolent. Even if it wasn't a Horcrux, she had no idea what it was or what it was intended to do. She supposed that it couldn't hurt to ask it.

She rummaged around in the bag until she found what she was looking for: a Dictoquill. If the book were intended to influence her, its power over her would be weaker if she didn't touch it.

She tapped the quill with the end of her wand, and it sprang to attention, hovering expectantly over the blank page.

'Hello,' she said. The quill scribbled the word on the page.

The ink appeared to be soaking into the page, but just before it disappeared, it began to shimmer and rearrange itself.

_What the hell are you?_

'Funny, I was about to ask you the same thing.' The quill scratched out her response.

_How are you writing? I can't sense anything._

'You expect me to reveal my identity when you haven't told me what you are?'

The ink faded into nothingness, which Hermione supposed was its version of a thoughtful pause.

_I'm not a toy. Play with me at your peril._

'Well, other than being a book of cross words, what are you?'

_This is a journal containing research notes far beyond your comprehension._

Hermione was amused to note that her derisive snort had been transcribed as 'Hmph.' 'Oh really?'

_Unless I have the honour of addressing someone of Masters level or higher, you can sod off._

'You're technically addressing a Dictoquill. However, I could be convinced to give you my academic credentials in exchange for the subject of your research.'

_No, and that ploy was utterly obvious. You must be a Gryffindor._

Hermione frowned. The book must have been made by a Ravenclaw or Slytherin to have embraced that particular stereotype. She thought fast. 'Well, if you're content being lost in the mists of time, I'm happy to help by Transfiguring you into a rock and throwing you in the lake.'

_I think you'll find that destroying this journal is a bit more difficult than you suspect._

A Slytherin, then. A Ravenclaw would find the notion of lost research romantic. She found herself smiling at her invisible opponent. 'I might not have a Mastery under my belt, but I do know a thing or two about ridding the world of stubborn magical artefacts.'

_I wish you'd rid the world of yourself._

'Are you this obnoxious to everyone that finds your book, or are you just angry that I've got around your detecting spells?'

_Gryffindors are careless. It's only a matter of time before you make a mistake._

'That begs the question of whether or not I decide to throw you in the lake tonight. And honestly, I've managed to write in the book without your being able to tell who I am. What makes you think I'll have any trouble disposing of you similarly?'

_Oh yes, your _Specialis Revelio_ was truly formidable. You might have noticed that it's no longer working. Go ahead and try a Hovering Charm or any other movement charm and see how well those work._

Hermione was torn between irritation and admiration of the book's ability to convey sarcasm. 'So you embedded the countercharms. Too bad I'm too far away for you to sense my boundless admiration.'

_Obviously, your mother never taught you to treat unknown magic with respect._

'That would be a safe assumption, considering that my mother is a Muggle.'

The ink from her last statement faded nearly into nothingness. Hermione stared at the blank page, surprised that the Slytherin book hadn't said anything insulting about her parentage.

_Look. It's obvious that you're not completely stupid, albeit annoying. But you need to understand that I'm not going to let you see the contents of this journal unless you let me gauge your knowledge and intentions._

'Thanks for the vote of confidence, but I'm not going to allow that for the very simple reason that I don't deal with anything if I can't see where it keeps its brain.'

_You must be on poor terms with the Fat Lady, then._

Odd. A Slytherin who not only knows the Fat Lady but also knows to call her the Fat Lady? 'You expect me to believe that you're simply a mechanism protecting the information inside?'

_Why wouldn't I be?_

'Because you haven't asked for a password or any way for me to identify myself without a gross intrusion of my magical space and consciousness. Unless this is some sort of test to see if I'm dim enough to be bullied into exposing myself.'

_Fine. Then give me the password._

She scowled at the book. 'I don't believe there is one. You'd have asked for it straightaway.'

_Not like I'd tell you, either way._

Hermione thought for a moment. The only other enchanted object she'd seen with content protection this elaborate was the Marauder's Map. Was it possible that this book was made by the same makers?

'I solemnly swear that I am up to no good,' she said.

_Delighted to hear it. Unfortunately, that still doesn't tell me who you are or why you want to access my research._

'I don't even know if I want to access your research,' she protested. 'You won't tell me what its subject is!'

_Then why are you bothering me? Surely there are less argumentative books in the world._

Hermione gritted her teeth. 'Because whoever you are, you've put together an interesting set of protection charms, and I'm curious to know what they're protecting. However, it's obvious that you desire to be read by nobody, ever, and I suppose the least I can do for troubling you is to help you with that. Goodbye.'

She had wrapped her bath-wrinkled fingers in a towel and reached to close the book, when two words appeared on the page.

_It's Potions._

'What is?'

_The research in this book. It's all about Potions._ The book allowed its words to fade. _You like Potions?_

'It's all right,' she said, somewhat bewildered by the book's change of heart. Or whatever it was that enchanted books changed. 'The teacher leaves something to be desired.'

_Don't I know it. Still, it could be worse. If you weren't so good at Charms, it'd be impossible to break into his ingredients stores._

Hermione froze. How on earth could the book have known that? Obviously, the Dictoquill wasn't an effective enough barrier. She sent the quill flying back into her bag and slammed the book shut with a towel-wrapped hand.

Just to be on the safe side, she covered the book with a damp flannel when she got out of the tub, in case it had the ability to spy on more than her mind. After a cursory scrub with a towel, she slipped on her bathrobe and began combing the tangles from her hair. As she detangled methodically from the ends of her hair to her scalp, she recalled the bizarre conversation she'd had with the book.

They'd done nothing but skirmish verbally until she'd revealed a piece of information about herself- that her mother was a Muggle. It was then that the book had changed tacks and tried to argue logically with her. But then it had made the remarks about their Potions teacher, her Charms ability, and breaking into the Potions stores.

It was the comment about breaking into the Potions stores that she understood the least. The book's tone had been conspiratorial almost, as if it had somehow been involved. And what had her ability with Charms to do with it? She'd stolen from the stores at the one time it was left open- during class. The only charm she'd used was one to enlarge the capacity of her bag to accommodate the Polyjuice ingredients, which was unremarkable, even though it wasn't taught until fourth year.

Or perhaps the book hadn't been lying when it said it couldn't sense her. Perhaps the book had drawn its own conclusions about her identity from what she'd said, or how she'd said it. In which case, she could identify the book's creator by trying to determine what person with a Muggle mother had been friends or acquaintances with someone serious enough about Potions to have written an independent research journal on the subject.

The obvious answer was Harry's mum, which meant that the journal belonged to Professor Snape. According to what Harry had told them about Professor Snape's memories, they'd been friends before they started running in different social circles, and Snape had been in love with her. 

Excitement swept through her as she took the flannel-wrapped book in her hand once again and slipped it into her bag. She cast a quick Drying Charm on herself and ran to the empty hallway as quickly as her feet could carry her.

_I need a quiet place to do research on this book_, she thought desperately. _Someplace I won't be disturbed or interrupted_, she amended hastily.

She nearly fainted with relief when the familiar door to the Room of Requirement appeared, and she found a cosy room inside with a table and a wide array of automatic quills and books on Charmed Journals.

Her hands trembled with excitement as she pulled the journal from her bag and laid it on the table. She removed the damp flannel and used it to flip the book open. The Dictoquill hovered over the page, waiting for her instructions.

Suddenly, she found that she had no idea what to say. Should play along with the book's assumption that she was Lily? Given that Lily had married James Potter, was that even a viable option? This was compounded by the fact that she still wasn't entirely sure of the journal's intentions, or those of its maker.

However, the journal took the decision out of her hands.

_I'm dead, aren't I?_

'Why do you say that?' asked Hermione carefully.

_Because you came back, even after realizing who I am._

'What's that supposed to mean?' she asked with a touch of asperity.

_You made it clear that you never wanted to speak with me again. Now, tell me how I died. You owe me that, at least._

'I fail to see how I owe you anything,' she said. 'If anything, I rescued you from an exceptionally boring eternity under a seat cushion.'

_Nothingness is better than not knowing._

'You would say that.'

_Quit stalling. How did I die?_

'A snakebite.'

_Impossible,_ the book scoffed. _I've built up immunity to every snake venom in existence, not to mention most poisons._

Hermione remembered the Half-Blood Prince's Potions text and smirked. 'Why didn't you just carry around a bezoar?'

_You can't shove a bezoar down your own throat if you're tied up or otherwise incapacitated._

'The things one learns from associating with Mulciber and Avery.'

_That was Lucius Malfoy, actually, and at least my friends never pretended to be anything they weren't, unlike yours. Now, tell me about the snake that killed me._

'This obsession with your own death can't be healthy,' said Hermione, not wishing to discuss Horcruxes with a possibly cursed object. She didn't want to give it any ideas.

_If I'm dead, what difference would healthy behaviour make? Did it swallow me whole or something?_

'It wasn't an ordinary snake,' replied Hermione, carefully. The quill paused over the page, as if waiting for the rest of her statement.

_A basilisk?_

'No, but it was enhanced by very dark magic. The snake's poison nearly killed my friend's dad because it prevented the blood from congealing over the bite.'

_Do you know anything about the magic that was used to enhance it?'_

'Forget it. I'm not going to talk about it. Besides, you owe me now. Tell me a bit more about how you got a version of yourself into this journal. Did you use a potion like the one they use to develop magical photographs?'

_Tell me about the magic on the snake, or you'll get nothing more from me._

Hermione's hands were shaking. 'For the last time, no! The last thing you need is more knowledge of the Dark Arts! Isn't the fact that Dark Magic killed you enough to keep you from wanting to know about it?'

_It's the fact that it killed me that makes me want to know about it, and you are such a bleeding hypocrite to lecture me about it. I never believed you for an instant when you said you were giving it up. You loved it as much as I did, the hexes we invented and the potions we made for fun. What would your precious Gryffindors say if they knew that the countercharm for Sectumsempra was the lullaby your mum used to sing you? We thought it was a great joke. Do you think your house mates would see the humour in it?_

Hermione stared at the ink that shone on the page before her, hardly daring to believe what she was reading. That certainly hadn't been one of the memories that Snape left for Harry. Of course, the memories that Snape left were intended to help Harry and possibly to help clear Snape of Dumbledore's murder. Memories of dabbling in Dark Magic with Lily accomplished neither goal.

She pondered how to respond for a moment before finally seizing upon an idea from the memory that Harry had characterised as Snape's worst.

'They might have done,' she said, hoping the Dictoquill could translate her nonchalant tone. 'You may recall that they were rather fond of Levicorpus.'

_The spell was too good not to share with your bully Gryffindors, wasn't it?_

The bitter tone of the question set of warning bells in her mind. 'I don't know what you mean.'

_I know you lied to me, Lily. You taught them that spell, knowing they'd use it on me. You told me they'd stolen the journal and that's how they knew, but that's not possible._

'Why not?'

_Because I was the one who stole your journal._

'_You_ stole it?' 

_Don't you dare play the injured party! I was using it your notes to make this journal for you. It contains all of our work, all of the things we wanted to do, and it's safe as houses. I worked harder on the protection charms than I'd ever worked on anything, and then you gave your mates our private weapon to use on me._

Hermione's mind was struggling to reconcile what Harry had told her with what the book was telling her. 'But you came back to me. You apologised for what you said.'

_And you refused to forgive me. The next day, you let James bloody Potter snog you._

Hermione only had Snape's memories of that day through Harry's description, and she could think of no plausible reason for Lily to have done such a thing, though she doubted that Professor Snape needed much reason to believe the worst of anyone.

'Did it never occur to you that one of them could have read my journal in secret before you stole it? Or perhaps they even pinched it from you after you'd pinched it from me.'

_I might actually believe that if you hadn't run to Potter for comfort so soon after._

Hermione felt a stab of indignation. 'Of all the things you can say about him, he never automatically believed the worst of me without giving me a chance to explain, unlike you, who were supposed to be my best friend.'

_He would have done if you'd been in Slytherin. You're hopelessly naïve if you believe otherwise._

Hermione couldn't dispute the truth of the statement. If James and Sirius hadn't been so blinded by their Gryffindor bias, they might have sensed the traitor in their midst before Voldemort had shown up at the Potters' door.

'James and Sirius are dead, you know,' she said, not quite sure what comfort this would give this magical imprint of Snape.

Her words lingered on the page for a surprisingly long time before they faded.

_Did I outlive them?_

Trust Snape to still be looking for a way to one-up them. 'Yes.'

_Did we ever find each other after Potter's death?_

His question made her heart swell painfully. 'No. We never did.'

_Do you still hate me for what I said that day?_

'I don't hate you.'

_Then why won't you touch the journal? I made it for you. Why are you still using a magical quill to write?_

'What possible difference could that make?'

_Not all of the charms on this book are meant to ensure privacy._

In her mind's eye, Hermione could see Professor Snape's self-satisfied smirk, which made her smile. It also made her shiver in anticipation. However, a nagging voice in the back of her head reminded her how dangerous enchanted books could be, and she was determined to figure out what sort of threat, if any, the book posed to her before writing in it anymore.

'I need to go now.'

_Will you return?_

'Maybe.' She deactivated the Dictoquill, pulled an old jumper from her bag, wrapped the book in it, and tucked it safely into her beaded bag.

As she made her way back to the hospital wing, the exhaustion that her curiosity had held at bay came crashing down on her. She fell into healing, dreamless sleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

o0o


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer in Chapter One.

o0o

Professor McGonagall, who sported a tartan ice bag at her temple, roused her midmorning. Harry and Ron had been awake for hours and were playing Exploding Snap and eating candy sent by well-wishers. The newly installed headmistress explained that they were expected in her office in an hour to give their version of the final battle. The only people present would be herself, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and a representative of the _Daily Prophet_, whose exclusive interview was contingent upon getting unanimous approval from them all before publishing it.

The House Elves brought them a hero's breakfast, which tasted like heaven after subsisting on meagre fare for so many months. Between bites, Harry, Ron, and Hermione discussed which topics were appropriate for the official version of their story and which details weren't. Some details were already public knowledge, particularly the Snitch, Deluminator, and book that Dumbledore had willed them.

It was quickly agreed that the only aspect of the Hallows legend worth mentioning was the Elder Wand, which everyone who witnessed Voldemort's death had heard about already. Its history was clearly there in _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_, and since wand lore was generally unknown, it was easy enough to explain why Voldemort's Killing Curses had failed without mentioning that Harry had been the final Horcrux.

Horcruxes were also not to be mentioned by name. The sooner they were forgotten, the better. Fortunately, it was easy to think up other plausible reasons for their public Horcrux-seeking exploits. Their trip to the Ministry of Magic by which they had gained Slytherin's locket could have been intended solely to free the Muggleborns, and their trip to Gringott's was easily explained as an attempt to steal Gryffindor's sword, which Dumbledore had seen as vital to their quest to kill Voldemort.

The diadem was a bit trickier, as most of Hogwarts's defenders knew Harry had been looking for it specifically. Hermione finally suggested that Harry needed the extra wisdom to know how to defeat Voldemort. The diadem's attributes were well enough known that the story was believable.

It was with some trepidation that Ron broached the subject of his leaving. He was certain that Bill and Fleur would swear to whatever story they wished them to give, but he was clearly embarrassed by his behaviour.

'Leave it out then,' said Harry. 'The reason you left and came back was because of a Horcrux, and we've already said we're not talking about them.'

'You're sure?'

'If you want the real story to come out, you can always hire Rita Skeeter to help you with your memoirs,' said Hermione.

Ron gave Hermione a grateful grin.

'I guess the last thing to talk about is Snape,' said Harry.

Hermione froze. 'What about him?'

'Well, he was only doing what Dumbledore told him to,' said Harry. 'We should probably try to clear his name officially, especially since he's dead and can't do it himself. And he did provide the most important piece of the puzzle.'

'Still,' said Hermione, frowning. 'I don't think he'd want the world to know exactly why he changed sides. That's private.'

'Can you imagine witches swooning over Snape, like he was some sort of romantic hero?' asked Ron with a snort.

'Ron, this is Harry's mum we're talking about. I think it's sufficient for us to say that Professor Snape left memories that prove he's innocent of Dumbledore's death and was spying for our side.'

'What if McGonagall or Kingsley want to see them?' asked Ron through a mouthful of toast.

'I took the memories from Dumbledore's old Pensieve last night and put them back in Hermione's bag,' said Harry. 'We could say the bottled holding them broke.'

'Well, there's plenty of room in the Room of Hidden Things, now,' said Ron. 'We can hide them there.'

'Unless it's still full of Fiendfyre,' pointed out Hermione.

'Can you keep them in your bag?' asked Harry, with a crooked smile. 'If there's room, of course.'

'Well, that's that,' said Ron, loading up his plate with more eggs and bacon. 'I think we're ready for whatever they throw at us.'

'Good. I only want to do this once, so let's do it well,' said Harry, brushing toast crumbs from his lap. 'You slept awfully late,' he said to Hermione. 'Are you sure you're feeling all right?'

'I didn't sleep until nearly sunrise' she said. 'I was up late with a book.'

The boys exchanged grins. 'She's definitely feeling better,' said Harry.

o0o

In Hermione's opinion, there was nothing more decadent than lying in a comfortable bed with a stack of books. Unless there was also chocolate, which there was.

Their official statement had taken many hours to make, and all three of them were exhausted by the time McGonagall and Shacklebolt were satisfied that they'd done a much more thorough job of eliminating Voldemort than Harry had done as a baby. Their deepest secrets were safe for the time being, and they'd been granted sanctuary in Hogwarts for as long as they needed to get their lives back in order. She, Harry, and Ron had been given official Hogwarts guest rooms, the type used by visiting teachers and Ministry officials.

Kingsley had even promised them that they could take the N.E.W.T.s once they'd had the opportunity to revise, and Hermione had already relieved the library of several important volumes for her projects for Remus and George. She'd already compiled a good list of potential charms for George's new ear and created a rough draft for her initial petition for the Ministry.

Unsurprisingly, Harry and Ron had sent her back to her room when she'd produced N.E.W.T.s revision schedules and reading lists. Hermione thought she'd heard Harry whisper _I solemnly swear that I am up to no good_, but she couldn't say for certain. Nor did she particularly care.

If Harry and Ron wanted to celebrate their victory by getting pissed in Hogsmeade, there was no reason to stop them. It's not as if they'd be very helpful in her reading, and there was work to be done.

Hermione was nearly to the end of a particularly dry book on the Goblin Rebellions when she slammed the book shut in frustration. The text was required reading for Seventh Year History of Magic, but it was hopelessly biased. There was nothing on goblin notions of ownership, merely that goblins 'stole' items that wizards had purchased. There was nothing about wizards withholding wand lore, or any of the things she'd learned in her adventures.

The next book was no better. This one was for Defence, and she'd found it on a syllabus from when Remus had taught. Unfortunately, it was full of inaccuracies, of the sort that could get someone killed. Honestly, even Professor Snape had seen fit to ensure that his students could tell the difference between Inferi and ghosts. This text might have been describing the ghoul they'd enchanted to look like Ron with Spattergroit.

She tutted noisily and tossed the book on the pile of discarded references. It was hopeless. The books might prepare her for N.E.W.T.s, but they certainly weren't sufficient to prepare anybody for the world.

She began pulling the rest of the books out of her bag: books of Charms she'd learned forwards and backwards, the rules of Transfiguration that she'd memorised years ago, _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_, which might have as well been written for comedy purposes for what little practical information it contained on animal husbandry. It was pointless. There wasn't anything in any of these books that she didn't already know, and yet she'd never felt as ill prepared as she did at that moment.

The last book in her bag was _Advanced Potion-Making_, which gave her pause. She knew the book from cover to cover, yet the Half-Blood Prince had managed to prove over and over that the Potions texts, like the others, were fallible and incomplete. She'd always wondered how Snape could have figured out so much about Potions, until it suddenly hit her. She knew the other texts' faults because she'd worked so hard to learn their content outside of class. However, knowing the recipe was no more like brewing the potion than knowing the incantation was like casting a charm.

While she was confident that she earn a dozen N.E.W.T.s with her eyes closed, Potions was the one subject she hadn't had the opportunity to stretch beyond the classroom, other than her experiment with Polyjuice Potion her second year. Then again, given how that turned out, was it any wonder that she was less than enthusiastic? Still, if she wished to make any progress towards curing Lycanthropy as Remus had wished, she would need more than the Hogwarts curriculum could offer.

Hermione's hand strayed into her bag once more, and it brushed against the cover of Snape's research journal. Of course. There in her bag were the joint research efforts of two of the finest Potions students that Hogwarts had ever seen. If she was going to learn, here was a book that could teach her things that Libatius Borage had never thought to try.

However, Hermione knew that she lacked sufficient knowledge of Lily's relationship with Snape to ask for access to his research, especially when Lily was supposed to know most of it already. She'd felt somewhat guilty about impersonating Snape's lost love to begin with, and she had a good reason to stop now. If Snape refused her access, then she was no worse off than she was now, and she'd at least have the satisfaction of knowing that she'd tried to deal with him honestly.

She pulled the journal from her bag and laid it on the bed next to her. The Dictoquill came next, and she paused for a moment before speaking.

'Hello, Severus.'

_You're still using the Dictoquill._

'Well, you see, you've given me very little reason to think you wish me well,' she said. 'In our previous conversation, you seemed far to keen to get me to touch the journal when it's open and active. What exactly will happen if I do that?'

_You know I'd never hurt you._

Hermione snorted. 'What do you think insulting me in front of the entire school did?'

_I told you, that was a mistake! Besides, I'd say you got even with me for that._

She nearly responded that she hadn't married James to get even with him, when she sighed, steeling herself to speak the truth. 'Well, you see, I didn't. I'm afraid that haven't been entirely honest with you, Severus.'

_How so? Did Potter actually leave you for a younger witch?_

'I'm not Lily Evans.'

Her words faded from the page, but no new words were forthcoming. Might as well get it all out on paper.

'My name is Hermione Granger. I am in the same year as James and Lily's son Harry. James and Lily were killed by Voldemort shortly after Harry was born, but when he tried to kill Harry, the Killing Curse rebounded on Voldemort. Everybody thought he was dead, but he wasn't. Voldemort had made a number of dark enchantments that prevented him from dying unless the enchantments were also destroyed. Nobody realised this until after he made a new body for himself thirteen years later. We've been fighting, all of us, against Voldemort. You were a spy for Dumbeldore, and I, Harry, and our friend Ron have been hunting down and destroying his enchantments. Two nights ago, we triumphed, and Voldemort's gone for good. The reason I know so much about you and Lily is because we were there when you died, and you left us memories that were important to Voldemort's defeat, and many of them involved Lily.'

_When in this discombobulating narrative did I die?_

'Two nights ago. You were the victim of his final enchantment and doing your job a bit too well.'

_What job was that?_

'You were a spy against Voldemort for Albus Dumbledore and had been ever since Voldemort expressed a desire to kill Lily. However, by following Voldemort's orders, Voldemort believed you'd inadvertently given yourself power over a valuable weapon that he wanted for himself.'

_So he ordered his enchanted snake to kill me?_

'Yes, though I don't know if it was the venom that killed you or blood loss.'

_As fascinating as this is, I don't exactly understand why you're telling me this without attaching one of your customary quid pro quos._

'I need your help with Potions. I'd like to understand the subject, and I think you can help me.'

_Show me how I died, and perhaps I'll help you._

'The snake bit your neck. There was a lot of blood, and you were trying to stop the bleeding with your hand. Voldemort left, and then Harry and I ran to your side. You were making these horrid bubbling sounds while you were trying to breathe, but recognised him and gave us your memories. Then, you died.'

_I didn't ask you to tell me about it, I asked you to show me._

'How am I supposed to do that?'

_Write in me, Hermione. Focus on the memory, hold the quill in your own hand, and write._

'You're not still on about that, are you?'

_Damn it, woman, can't you see this is important? Just tell me, what did my breathing sound like? Did it rattle? Did I cough?_

'No, it was sort of gurgling or bubbling. Like there was blood in your lungs.'

_Show it to me, Hermione. I promise I'll help you with Potions, I'll tell you anything you wanted to know about Lily. I'll do anything. Please. I won't hurt you. If you ever trusted me, then please, trust me now._

With equal parts trepidation and curiosity about what could make Severus Snape, even a teenaged version, beg, she turned off the Dictoquill and took her own quill in her hand. She dipped it in her inkwell and focused her thoughts on that night in the Shrieking Shack. She wrote the words. _I am here_ on the empty page.

She felt as if she were going through a Portkey. The world swirled around her in a dizzying blur of lights and colours until the world righted, and she found herself standing in the Shrieking Shack with Voldemort and Professor Snape. A tall, sallow boy her own age stood next to her, staring at the scene before him with surprise. He was surprisingly handsome in a coltish sort of way, and Hermione felt a sudden wave of heartache, knowing the sorrow his disastrous choices would cause.

He fixed his dark eyes on her at last. 'Where are we?'

'The Shrieking Shack in Hogsmeade.'

'Where are you?' he asked.

'I'm with Harry and Ron in the secret passage behind that crate. That's the tunnel that connects to the Whomping Willow.'

Severus watched with glittering eyes as Voldemort described his inability to kill Harry, gasping quietly when Voldemort mentioned that he'd killed Professor Dumbledore, and even managing a half-hearted sneer at his elder self's obvious anxiety. His sneer turned into a look of utter loathing when Voldemort sent the snake towards Snape, and he hardly winced when the snake buried her fangs in his future self's throat.

Severus was at his elder self's side before he hit the ground, and Hermione joined him.

'There,' he said, pointing triumphantly at Professor Snape's fingers. 'I knew it.'

Hermione stared. Hidden in Professor Snape's fingers was a tiny phial filled with a transparent potion that Hermione recognised with a gasp.

'Draught of Living Death,' she whispered.

Snape poured the Potion into the terrible wound in his neck and pressed his hand against it with a hiss.

'Of course,' whispered Severus. 'He put it directly into the bloodstream to make it act faster.'

'Was it enough to stop him bleeding to death?' she whispered.

Severus motioned for her to be quiet.

The crate over the passage slid aside, and Hermione saw herself, Ron and Harry rush out of the passage and kneel at Professor Snape's side.

Severus glared at Harry, probably because of his resemblance to James, but didn't say anything. He put his head close to Professor Snape's mouth and listened intently.

Hermione turned her back. She didn't want to see Professor Snape die again. Once was more than enough.

_'Look… at… me…'_

There was a dull thud as Snape hit the ground, and then all was silent.

She started as she felt Severus's hand on her arm, and she turned to face him.

He looked down at her impassively and raised his finger to her cheek.

She hadn't realised she was crying.

'You're sorry I died,' he said in tones of surprise as he withdrew his damp fingertip.

'Of course I'm sorry,' she said, scrubbing the tears away angrily. 'Unsung heroes dying needless deaths isn't exactly the stuff of comedy, you know.'

'No, I suppose not,' he said with a slight smile.

'Right,' she said, squaring her shoulders. 'Madam Pomfrey's standard Blood Replenishing Potion can't be taken with Draught of the Living Death- the milk in it will react to the thujone in wormwood, and we do want you to wake up eventually. I'm fairly sure she still stocks Sanguinus Solution for people with milk allergies. Now, Living Death wears off in three days and three nights. I need to find you tonight, otherwise you'll bleed to death as soon as you wake '

Severus stared at her open-mouthed for a moment. 'You might not be Lily, but at least you're not a complete dunderhead.'

'Thanks for the glowing vote of confidence.'

His smirk faded quickly. 'How do you plan to stop the bleeding?'

'I'm going to suture the wound, which ought to stabilise you until we can get you to St. Mungo's. That's how they were able to save Ron's dad when the same snake bit him. Now, get us out of here! I've got a Potions Master to save!'

'I attain Mastery?' Severus looked slightly shocked.

'For someone who's lying bleeding to death somewhere, you don't seem in any particular rush to help your potential rescuer,' she said tartly.

She swore that he looked embarrassed for a moment before the world swirled around her, and she found herself lying on her bed again.

She scrambled to her feet and threw on her cloak, barely remembering to return the journal and quill into her bag. She banged on Harry's and Ron's doors, but they were nowhere to be found. If she didn't encounter anybody on her way to the hospital wing, she'd have to go it alone.

o0o


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer in Chapter One.

o0o

Hermione tore down the corridor as quickly as her legs would carry her, as the pilfered bottles of Sanguinus Solution clinked softly in her handbag. She burst through the front doors to the general astonishment of the families and students who were eating in the Great Hall, and ran across the twilit lawns toward the Whomping Willow. She hurriedly charmed a rock to fly at the secret knot, and the tree stilled, allowing her access to the secret passageway.

Her lungs were burning by the time she pushed through the secret door into the Shrieking Shack, wand light piercing the gloom. The shack smelled of dust and dried blood, but it barely registered. She stared at the floor in dismay. Snape's body wasn't there.

She made a methodical circuit of the room, searching for any sign of him, but he was well and truly gone. At least there were no fresh bloodstains anywhere in the room. There were all sorts of footprints on the dusty floor, but nothing that clearly indicated when or where Snape's body had been taken.

She supposed that one of two things had occurred. Either Kingsley had told the Ministry where to find Snape's body, or someone else had taken it for their own purposes. She preferred not to consider the latter option.

A loud crash outside the shack made her drop into duelling stance until she recognised a familiar song floating through the air. A drunken duet had seen fit to serenade all of Hogsmeade with a ribald version of 'Weasley is our King.'

_Weasley's broomstick's long and thin,  
But always gets his Quaffle in,  
He's sure to make the witches grin,  
Weasley is our King!_

She extinguished her wand and slipped out the door, sticking to the shadows of the familiar shop windows and houses on Hogsmeade's main street. At last, she spied the warm glow of the Three Broomsticks' windows and the familiar silhouette of Madam Rosmerta slouched in the doorway. She had Seamus in one hand and Neville in the other and would have been throwing them out if she hadn't been laughing so hard. Neville took a deep breath and belted out the next verse.

_A Keeper's job's to make the save  
And when those witches misbehave  
Weasley's bravest of the brave,  
Weasley is our King!_

Fortunately all three were so far gone that they didn't notice her, even as she moved Neville bodily to the side as she passed. The pub was filled to overflowing, and everyone was drinking, laughing, and singing.

Hermione made a beeline for the fireplace, where six or seven of her classmates, several of whom were certainly under seventeen, had already passed out amongst their empty bottles. She grabbed a fistful of Floo Powder from the urn on the mantelpiece and tossed it into the fire. She stuck her head in the green flames and yelled, 'Kingsley Shacklebolt!'

_Voldemort got quite a shock  
When Weasley bashed him in the block,  
With one swing of 'is giant cock!  
Weasley is our King!_

After what seemed like an eternity, Kingsley appeared. He was wearing a paisley dressing gown and looked grave.

'I'm so sorry to disturb you like this, sir,' she said with a rueful glance over her shoulder, 'but it's a matter of life and death. I need to know if Severus Snape's body has been found, and if so, where it is.'

His eyebrows shot up. 'I'll say this for you, Hermione, you don't mince words.'

'Please, there's not a moment to lose. Is there someone you can call?'

'I don't need to. Higgenbaum sent me a report before supper. He's not the brightest wand in the bunch, but he's thorough. Snape's body wasn't in the Shrieking Shack and he found traces of a Hover Charm that had been cast hours ago.'

'Was there anything to indicate who'd done it?'

'The charm was cast too long ago to identify its magical signature, and the footprints were inconclusive. Nobody in Hogsmeade reported seeing anyone entering or leaving the Shack, so we can assume that whoever took the body got in through the secret passage.'

_Now Voldy's dead without a sob.  
Was it Potter's wand what done the job?  
Or was it really Weasley's nob?  
Weasley is our King!_

Hermione could barely hear Kingsley over the din. 'I hope you'll forgive my asking,' she yelled, 'but is Higgenbaum trustworthy?'

'Snape had enemies, but Higgenbaum is beyond suspicion. Content with his lot, so he can't be bribed. No secrets, so he can't be blackmailed. Besides, I didn't tell him whose body he was collecting, so he can't have told anyone else beforehand.'

'I can't thank you enough, Kingsley. I need to go now.'

'Well, at least take a copy of Higgenbaum's report,' he said, Replicating the parchment and handing it to her.

'Thanks, Kingsley. I won't forget this. Goodbye!'

She pulled her head from the flames only to be lifted into the air by Seamus and Neville. Madame Rosmerta was now asleep in a chair.

_We hope you've all enjoyed our song  
But if you think it's far too long,  
It's time you met with Weasley's dong!  
Weasley is our King!_

Both boys planted sloppy kisses on her cheeks, and she managed to disentangle herself.

'Aww, Herm-my-knee,' slurred Seamus. 'Go on and give us a kiss. Singin's thirsty work.'

'Thanks, Seamus, but I have to go.'

'C'mon!' said Neville, who was swaying on his feet. 'We can all play a game of Hide-the-Wand!'

'All right,' said Hermione. 'Meet me upstairs.'

Seamus and Neville stared at each other in amazement.

'Told you it'd work eventually!' crowed Neville, thumping Seamus's shoulder.

They clambered over one another in eagerness to make it to a room. They disappeared into room twelve. When they didn't reappear a moment later, Hermione knew she could safely avoid room twelve for the rest of the evening. However, she needed a private place to read Higgenbaum's report, and she needed it now.

The loo was out, judging by the horrid retching noises that emanated from within. She decided to take her chances upstairs.

The first room she tried was so small that a leg kicked the door closed as soon as she opened it. The second room contained a couple making love so enthusiastically that they didn't even notice her standing in the doorway. The third room was pitch dark, but she easily identified Harry and Ginny from their enamoured whispers.

Hermione's face was bright red, but she knew what needed to be done. She reached into her handbag and pulled out a small phial of potion.

'Who's there?' Ballocks. Harry must have heard her.

'Look, I know it's none of my business, but unless I miss my guess, you might need this. I'm just leaving it by the door. It'll be effective if you use it within twenty-four hours.'

'Do you just happen to keep Contraceptive Potion on you, then?' Ginny's tone was so snippy that Hermione wondered if getting up the duff wasn't exactly what Ginny had in mind.

'I was in hiding with two boys for months,' she said archly. 'I was prepared for _every_ eventuality.'

Let her chew on that. Hopefully, she wouldn't take it out on Harry.

Hermione skipped over the next door, which was room twelve, and finally found an empty room, though if the carpetbag on the luggage rack was any indication, it wouldn't be empty for long.

Hermione locked the door and began poring over Higgenbaum's report. It contained pictures of the various sets of fresh footprints and the rather horrific pool of blood. There were prints from Voldemort's bare feet and clawed toes, prints from Ron's trainers and Harry's, whose were slightly larger, her own, and finally, a pair that she recognised immediately as being from a pair of Plinths, which were generally worn by wealthy wizards who wished to subtly appear a few inches taller than they really were. 

Now, that was curious. Why would someone affluent enough to purchase such shoes take on a dirty job like collecting a dead body instead of sending someone else? Unless the wizard didn't want anyone else to be involved. But if it were, say, a former Death Eater bent on desecrating or making an example of the body, surely he would have had friends to help or would have taken pains to disguise himself.

Something was niggling in the back of her mind. Something about the conversation Severus had forced her to overhear again. Voldemort had pulled Snape back from battle and had lectured him on wand lore while Snape begged to return, to get Harry.

_You sound like Lucius. Neither of you understands Potter as I do._

Of course. The owner of those exorbitantly priced shoes had to be the sort of man who was confident that the Ministry could or would not touch him, and yet vain enough to wear elevator shoes.

There was only one missing piece of the puzzle. Why would Lucius steal Severus's body?

She added another locking spell to the door and pulled out the journal. The Dictoquill wrote faster than she did, so that would have to do.

'Severus, it's Hermione.'

_'Did you find it?_

'No. Somebody's taken the body. I spoke with the Minister, and I think I know who did it, but I need your help to approach the body-thief.'

_What can I do?_

'You can tell me exactly what is between you and Lucius Malfoy and any insight as to why he would steal your body.'

Her words faded into the page, and as Hermione pulled the journal towards herself, she fancied she felt a wave of embarrassment from the book.

'You needn't go into detail, Severus,' she said hastily. 'But I need to know if he would wish you ill. If you two have a- erm- special relationship, he might let me try to save you. But if you had some sort of rivalry, I think it'd be best to sneak into his house somehow.'

_Unless things have changed drastically, Lucius is one of the few people in whom I would have confided. His intentions were never to be a lackey to the Dark Lord, and if he was treated as such, I can't imagine Lucius's loyalty would have lasted long._

Hermione nodded. 'That makes sense. Thanks, Severus. If we're lucky, you'll be reunited with your older, grumpier self in no time.'

_You forgot 'uglier.'_

Hermione smiled. 'Cheer up, Severus. You do grow into your nose eventually.'

_Cheeky._

She couldn't help herself. She leaned down and gave the page an affectionate kiss. 'I've got to go now. Goodbye.'

She didn't bother wrapping her hand in fabric before closing the journal and allowed her fingertips to linger on the cover before stuffing it into her bag.

She picked her way through the figures sprawled on the stairs and threw another handful of Floo Powder into the fireplace. 'Malfoy Manor!' she cried, and disappeared in a swirl of green flame.

o0o


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer in Chapter One.

o0o

Hermione knew she'd made a mistake a split second before she slammed into what felt like a brick wall. Her breath was knocked out of her, and she fell backwards onto the ground. Fortunately, she fell into a bed of thick, springy greenery and was relatively unhurt.

She lay there for a moment, waiting for the spinning motes of light to leave her vision. When her breathing had returned to normal, she sat up. She was sitting in a formal garden outside a large and splendid-looking house. Unfortunately, it wasn't the Malfoys'.

Hermione cursed herself as the worst kind of fool for not having anticipated difficulty in finding Malfoy. Of course they'd blocked Floo access from public places. She wouldn't be surprised if the magical barrier had deposited her miles from their Manor. Every Death Eater knew where it was- it had been the Dark Lord's headquarters for some time, and they would be trying desperately to regroup or wreak revenge.

She got unsteadily to her feet and hobbled to the wall that enclosed the garden. It was then that she heard a low growl behind her. She turned to find a pair of ferocious-looking guard dogs looking at her as if she were a side of beef. She focused and Apparated to the far side of the wall, praying to whatever deity was listening that there wasn't a moat.

Fortunately, the estate didn't have one. Unfortunately, they did have a duck pond. The dogs on the other side of the wall were still baying loudly when her head broke the surface. She swam to the edge of the pond and hid amongst the reeds until the dogs quieted.

At the first opportunity, she trudged out of the muddy water, losing a shoe in the process, and hid in a nearby hedgerow, which ran parallel to a small road. She Summoned her shoe and cast several Cleansing and Drying Charms on herself before she felt normal enough to locate the Malfoys' home.

A quick Point Me spell indicated that the Malfoys' house was due east along the gravel road next to the hedgerow. Not wishing to call any attention to herself, she Disillusioned herself and quickly set off down the road, looking for any house that looked familiar. She had seen it only once before, but she was confident that she'd be able to recognise it again.

She estimated that she'd been walking for nearly a mile when she turned a bend in the road and saw the ruin of a great house, an enormous charred skeleton that was flat black against the dewy grass.

With a sinking heart, she recognised the white gravel drive that led up to the house and the remains of the huge white pillars of the entranceway. She took a few steps closer to the house and remembered suddenly that she really ought to be doing N.E.W.T.s revision. No, that wasn't right. In order to do proper N.E.W.T.s revision, she needed Severus's help, and she'd offered to find his body in exchange for his Potions expertise. Thus, she needed to continue walking toward the house. Wait, had she remembered to extinguish the lights in her room before leaving?

Belatedly, Hermione realised that she was being affected by an Avoidance Charm, the sort of which was usually used to repel Muggles from places like the Quidditch World Cup. But who would use such a charm on the ruin of a house whose contents had been utterly destroyed?

Nobody, that's who. However, using such a charm was a brilliant idea if one wanted to protect something that had been hidden by magic. Having learned her lesson about _Specialis Revelio_ from Severus's journal, Hermione tapped her wand against her closed eyelids. '_Video Vera_!'

When she opened them, the enchantments and charms on the house were clearly visible. The house, which had obviously not burned down, was outlined in the orange fire of a Concealment Charm. Wards of every shade protected the various entrances and windows, and a nasty-looking red charm encircled the estate, not two metres in front of her.

She examined the red perimeter charm and smiled, unaccountably reminded of laser-activated alarms in the Muggle world. She wished it were as simple as thwarting those, where all one needed was two mirrors to fool the sensors. Unless, of course, it was as simple as a Muggle laser alarm.

From her bag she quickly produced Harry's mokeskin purse, from which she pulled two large shards of Sirius's enchanted mirror and placed them against each other, reflective side out. '_Wingardium Leviosa!_'

With the utmost care, she hovered the shards near the red beam, and winced as she slid them into it.

So far so good. No alarm was blaring, and no guard dogs appeared to be forthcoming.

Encouraged, she slowly hovered the shards away from one another, until there was a gap in the perimeter just large enough for her to slide through. She inched her way through, focusing as much as possible on holding the mirrors steady. When she was on the inside, she gently removed the mirrors from the perimeter charm, and breathed an enormous sigh of relief when the charm came noiselessly back together, as if it had never been separated.

Much cheered, she returned the shards to her bag and strode across the Malfoys' lawn to their front door. The door itself was covered in powerful protection spells, but she was pleased to note that the doorbell was devoid of enchantments.

She pressed the metal tongue of the bell, and a sepulchral gong echoed through the house.

The door opened to reveal a House-Elf dressed in a tidy livery. 'Master and Mistress are not accepting visitors,' he said in rich tones.

'Then it's a good thing I'm not a visitor,' said Hermione. 'I've come to help Severus Snape.'

If the elf knew the name, he gave no outward sign of it. 'Miss must have the wrong address.'

'This is the Malfoy residence, is it not?'

'This is Malfoy Manor,' corrected the elf.

'Then this is where Severus Snape is currently. He is currently unconscious and will bleed to death shortly if you do not take me to him this instant. Ask your master if you require confirmation of this. I am happy to wait.'

'Master is not to be disturbed, and certainly not by the likes of you,' said the elf, sniffing at Hermione's casual Muggle garb.

'Fine. Get Narcissa or Draco. Tell them Hermione Granger is here.'

'Mistress and the Young Master are also not to be disturbed.'

Hermione glared at the elf, whose look of calm superiority was beginning to grate.

'What is your name?'

'Snoddy, Miss.'

'Very well, Snoddy. What would happen if I were to set Malfoy Manor on fire?'

'I should think that would be a difficult task to accomplish, Miss, as the house is made of stone.'

'For the sake of argument, let us assume it's not only possible, but also imminent. If the Manor were ablaze, that would disturb your master, mistress, and whatever Draco is, correct?'

'Are you threatening to set the Manor on fire, Miss?' asked the elf in a bored voice.

'Merely exploring a hypothetical situation, Snoddy. Now, correct me if I'm wrong, but I should imagine that your master and mistress would be far less disturbed by allowing me to save your master's friend than by forcing me to set the house on fire.'

'In my appraisal of your appearance and demeanour, I believe that you lack the wherewithal to do either,' said the elf. 'Now, the Young Master has requested my presence. I bid you a very good evening.'

He turned to leave, but stopped short at Hermione's harsh whisper. When he looked back at her, the tip of her wand was blazing with unnaturally bright fire. Snoddy's eyes widened as the flames changed before his eyes into a myriad of cruel creatures. Hermione had broken out into a sweat with the effort of holding back the Fiendfyre, but she gritted her teeth and glared triumphantly at the elf.

'MERLIN! Granger, have you gone barking mad?' cried Draco Malfoy, leaping from his hiding place beside a grandfather clock. 'Dispel it before you lose control!'

'Master Draco!' admonished Snoddy, but Draco wasn't listening. He waved his wand in a circle, and a glowing blue orb surrounded Hermione. She recognised the charm as a stronger variant of the standard Containment Charm. Typical of Draco not to care if she incinerated herself, as long as she didn't take the house with her.

She met his eyes and nodded, focusing her power on drawing the Fiendfyre back into her wand. The fire beasts seemed to realise what she was doing and went into a frenzy, baring their teeth and brandishing their claws. A fiery hydra nearly succeeded in his attempt to lick the flesh of her wand hand, but it was too little too late. A moment later, all the beasts had vanished, leaving only a panting Hermione, whose wand tip was smouldering.

Draco glared at her. 'All right, Granger. What do you want?'

'Severus Snape.'

Malfoy stared uncomprehendingly for a moment before his expression closed. 'He's dead, Granger. Now get out.'

'He's not dead. Your father has him somewhere and is trying to stop him from dying, and he won't succeed without my help.'

'My father is in France.'

'Fat chance, Malfoy. You expect me to believe your parents would let you out of their sight for a minute when they betrayed Voldemort to save you?'

He winced at the name out of habit and looked thoroughly disgruntled at having done so. 'Believe what you like, Granger. I'm not about to give you the bloody tour. Now go away.'

Hermione looked at the elf, who was watching them with a disapproving scowl.

'Oh!' she exclaimed, comprehension dawning. 'Both of your parents are in France, aren't they? They left Snoddy here to keep an eye on you.' She was mostly successful in keeping the laughter out of her voice.

Draco's face turned bright red. 'If you so much as breathe a word of this to anyone, I'll-'

'For Circe's sake, Malfoy, I didn't come here tonight to humiliate you!' she interrupted. 'I'm here for Severus. Now, are you going to help me or not?'

'Not like I have much choice,' he grumbled, shoving his fists in his pocket. 'You'd better come in.'

She stepped through the jamb, and the door closed behind her so suddenly that she jumped. Snoddy was doing a very poor job of covering a satisfied smile.

'Come ON, Granger!' said Malfoy, who was going through a doorway on the far side of the room. 'You're the one in the hurry. And since when do you call him Severus?'

'It's his name,' replied Hermione. 'And he's certainly not Professor Snape anymore, is he?'

'If he's still alive, then he's still Hogwarts Headmaster,' pointed out Draco, not bothering to hold the door to the drawing room open for her.

'Actually, he's not. The interim Minister of Magic appointed Professor McGonagall to the post. Honestly, don't you read the _Prophet_?'

Draco looked at her witheringly. 'You think they deliver to burnt up manor houses?'

'Oh.' She cleared her throat. 'I'm sorry, Malfoy.'

'Sorry? What for?'

'I'm sorry about your friends who died. I'm sorry you have to be in hiding. I'm sorry all this is necessary, not knowing who's after you for what reason.'

'Sure you're sorry,' said Draco. 'What's a few attempted murders and a wall of cursed fire between acquaintances?'

'Your mum saved Harry's life. All of us would probably be dead if not for her.'

'Yeah, well excuse me if that's not exactly something I want my friends to know about.'

Hermione snorted. 'Even if it keeps your entire family out of Azkaban?'

A ghost of a smile lifted the corner of Draco's mouth. 'Old habits die hard. You can use the fireplace over there. It's the only one in England that's connected to our house in France.'

Hermione looked curiously at the empty mantel. 'Where's the powder?'

Draco smirked her. 'Where do you think you are, the Leaky Cauldron?' He tapped his wand on the carved marble fireplace, and the flames burst into emerald.

Hermione refused to be impressed. 'I thought I was in a burnt up manor house,' she shot back. 'Where am I going?'

'Chateau de Malfoy.'

She put an experimental foot into the flames. 'Malfoy Manor, Chateau de Malfoy; there aren't many creative types in your family, are there?'

'No. All my family have been rich.'

'Thanks, Draco.' She stood in the middle of the fireplace. 'Chateau de Malfoy!'

o0o


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer in Chapter One.

o0o

Hermione was highly impressed. The Malfoys' fireplace didn't spin her around or make her feel as if she were being hoovered up. The flames faded gently into darkness and gently back into light, though she was now looking into a very different room. She stepped out into a well-appointed sitting room.

The chateau was decorated much more simply than the manor, and in a much more modern design of white, grey, and silver. Since there appeared to be nobody around, she left the sitting room and went out the door. She entered an elegant salon with wall-sized windows, through which she could see stars in the overhead sky. The squeak of her trainers on the hardwood floor echoed through the empty room. A long hallway could be seen at the end of the salon, and towards the end of it, she fancied she saw a dim light.

As she approached the light, she saw that it was coming from underneath a door. She could hear raised voices behind it, and a look through the keyhole confirmed that Lucius and a ratty-looking wizard were arguing loudly in French. Through the tiny aperture, she was just able to make out what was clearly one of Professor Snape's boots lying by the bed.

This was it. Now or never.

She turned the porcelain knob and slid noiselessly into the room. Neither man looked at her.

'Ah, _cherie_,' said Lucius. 'I didn't hear you leave. How is he?'

Hermione gulped. Professor Snape's robe and boots were on the bed, as was a large amount of blood, but he wasn't there.

'Uh-'

The confused syllable had hardly fallen from her lips when Lucius Malfoy spun around and hexed her. She leapt to the side and just avoided being Stunned. He flung another curse at her, but this time she was ready with Protego.

'Will you stop that?' she asked in exasperation, after knocking his curse to the side. 'I'm not here to cause trouble, I'm here to help Severus!'

A third curse died on his lips, and he stared at her in unflattering disbelief. 'I fear my ears may be suffering the ill effects of a curse,' he said at last. 'I could have sworn that one of Harry Potter's closest acquaintances, one who has somehow broken into my private estate, has come not to wreak her revenge on my family, but to offer assistance to a known Death Eater.'

'Severus Snape is no more Death Eater than I am,' she said crossly, 'And if you don't take me to him at once, he will die from blood loss.'

'You are meestaken, I theenk,' said the ratty wizard. 'I 'ave already given 'im enough Blood-Replenishing Potion to refill a 'ippogriff!'

'You bloody fool,' she whispered, paling. 'Didn't you know that he's under the influence of Draught of the Living Death?'

'But of course I deed!'

'Then why did you give him Blood-Replenishing Potion?' Hermione knew she was shouting, but she didn't care. 'Did you want him to suffer brain damage? Why didn't you use Sanguinus?'

The ratty wizard's face had turned crimson. 'You theenk I just 'appen to keep Sanguinus Solution around? This ees an emergency, and eef you 'ave nothing to contribute-'

He stopped midsentence when Hermione produced one of the flasks of Sanguinus that she'd taken from the hospital wing. 'You at least gave him a bezoar, I hope?'

His face turned even darker.

She turned to Lucius.

'Take me to him, Mr. Malfoy. I can save him.'

Lucius stared at her incredulously for a moment then gave an elegant shrug. 'This way, Miss Granger.'

He led Hermione to the back of the room, through a door into a palatial bathroom. There, hovering over a pool of steaming water, was the body of Severus Snape. He was completely nude, and his skin had an ashy pallor, far greyer than he had been in the appearance of death. His breathing was rapid and shallow.

Narcissa Malfoy knelt at his side, pressing a bloody towel to his neck. Hermione was relieved to see that the blood on the towel was thick and nearly black, a sign that the Draught of the Living Death had not completely worn off. However, there was only one way to find out for certain.

Her assessment of Professor Snape was interrupted by a furious hiss from Narcissa, who had noticed her presence. 'What in the Ninth Circle of Hells is she doing here? Come to gloat, have you, you filthy Mudblood?'

Hermione ignored her animosity and met her eye squarely. 'I've come to save your friend. Was Professor Snape dosed with the Blood Replenishing Potion before or after he started bleeding again?'

'Before,' said Lucius, before his wife could say anything else.

'How was it delivered, via injection or orally?'

'Orally. They sat him up and poured it down his throat. That was about fifteen minutes ago. He started bleeding almost immediately after ingesting the potion.'

Hermione felt limp with relief. 'We're not too late then, but we need to get the rest of that potion out of his stomach. This isn't going to be pleasant,' she said to Narcissa. 'You might want to stand back.'

'Lucius?'Narcissa's voice was dangerous..

'All will be well, my dear,' said Lucius, taking his wife's bloodstained hand and allowing Hermione to take her place at Severus's side.

Hermione lifted her wand and released the plug on the tub. As the water drained out, she turned to her hostess.

'He'll need to be facing downwards so he won't choke.'

Narcissa didn't look any happier about Hermione's presence, but she did as she was asked and rotated Snape's body. Hermione nodded her thanks, and with a grimace, stuck her hand between his lips and reached as far back down his throat as she could.

When her second knuckles had slid past his rear molars, she felt his body give a great heave. She hastily pulled her hand from his mouth, and Severus Snape vomited the contents of his stomach into the receding water of the tub. Hermione grinned upon realising that the potion he'd brought up was the same colour as undiluted Blood Replenisher, until the sour smell made her want to retch as well.

When his heaving had subsided, she cast Evanesco to clean up the remaining mess, though the foul smell lingered. She had but to meet Narcissa's eyes, and Snape's body rotated again, facing upwards, his feet slightly lower than his head. Hermione seized a bottle of Sanguinus Solution and poured it into his mouth. 

It went down with little coaxing- the Living Death must nearly be out of his system for his reflexes to be working again, even sluggishly. But once the Draught wore off completely, his bleeding would be much worse. She had to act quickly.

Heedless of the curious looks of the others in the bathroom, she pulled out the curved needle and nylon thread that she'd taken from the infirmary. She thanked her lucky stars that Madam Pomfrey had taken Arthur Weasley's cure to heart and begun stocking the infirmary with Muggle supplies.

Her shaking hands were too unsteady to do the suturing by hand, so she used her wand to do the precise job of sewing the edges of the snake's bite together. In a small way, it allowed her the distance necessary in order to finish the job. Hermione's stomach had not yet settled, and the sight of the thread tugging at the delicate tissues of Snape's neck was not helping. 

With each stitch, she made a tight knot, trying not to look at the torn edges of his skin or the blood slowly welling up from beneath. Fortunately, the puncture wounds were not large, and she only needed to use ten stitches to ensure that they were well and truly closed. She suspected she needn't have used so many, but with Nagini's bites one could not be too careful.

She sat back at last and wiped the dripping blood away from the wound to gauge how much blood was escaping. To her great relief, he didn't appear to be bleeding any longer, though she suspected that would change as the Draught wore off and the Sanguinus Solution took effect. However, if her sutures were sufficient, they would stop the worst of the bleeding.

Suddenly, the reality of what she had just done came crashing down on her, and Hermione fell forward and was violent sick into the Malfoys' bathtub. Darkness was hovering in her peripheral vision, and stars danced before her eyes.

'Give him the bezoar in my bag,' she whispered, gesturing feebly at it. Her last realisation before losing consciousness was that someone had put a damp flannel on the back of her neck.

o0o


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer in Chapter One

o0o

Hermione drifted into consciousness in the most delicious comfort imaginable. A soft breeze was blowing in through the window, bringing with it the smell of sun-warmed lavender. She snuggled into the silken bedclothes, luxuriating in the texture against her bare skin.

She had been conscious for nearly thirty seconds before she realised that she was not in her room at Hogwarts. She shot upright and was immediately aware that she wasn't wearing any bedclothes. She pulled up the sheet to cover her exposed bosom and looked around the room. She was in a bedroom decorated in pale blues and purples. Her wand was on the table next to the bed and her beaded bag lay on a chair against the wall, but her clothes were nowhere to be seen. Fortunately, there was a periwinkle blue dressing gown hanging on the back of the door, which she Summoned and hastily pulled on. It was made of even finer material than her sheets.

Having summarily dealt with her nudity, she allowed her mind to wander back to the events of the previous night. The last thing she remembered was throwing up. She must have passed out. She felt unaccountably relieved that they hadn't decided to lock her in the dungeon. However, that raised the question of why the Malfoys were being nice to her.

It hit her with a sudden frission of excitement. Perhaps Professor Snape had lived through the night.

She nearly pulled the notebook from her bag to tell Severus the good news, but she felt that she had to see it for herself. However, her mouth tasted awful, and she needed to bathe.

She ran to the bathroom where she found luxurious toiletries laid out for her use, which she enjoyed thoroughly, particularly the French-milled soap whose scent reminded her of Amortensia.

When she returned to the bedroom clean and refreshed, she found the wardrobe open and a lovely blue robe and dainty lace underthings laid out for her on the bed. They fit as if they had been made for her, which, she supposed, they might have been. She smiled at herself in the mirror, admiring the way the smart cut of the robes set off her waist to perfection. She knew then that she'd done it. Severus Snape was alive.

Now unable to hold herself back, Hermione tore down the hallway, attempting to find some sign of Severus or her hosts. She found the room with the porcelain knob, and, having looked through the keyhole, determined that other than a figure sleeping in the bed, the room was empty.

She stole silently into the room and stood by the bed, looking down at her erstwhile teacher. He was still pale but he'd lost the ghastly grey that had been caused by the unfortunate reaction to his initial treatment. The wounds in his neck were crusted with dried blood, but they didn't appear to be bleeding any longer. His breathing was deep and regular. Hermione couldn't suppress a grin of triumph. She'd saved him.

Still, though he was alive and not likely to die of blood loss, there was no telling what sort of effect the residual snake venom would have on him, or whether there would be any lasting damage done by mixing the Blood Replenisher and Living Death. He needed to be seen by a healer, and certainly one of greater skill than the man who'd treated him the night before. His skin was cool under her fingertips, and she Summoned an additional blanket from the chair and laid it over him.

She turned to leave and jumped when she realised that she was not alone in the room. Narcissa Malfoy was standing in the doorway, looking at her impassively.

'Mrs Malfoy,' said Hermione by way of greeting.

'What do you want?' asked Narcissa. Though her words were abrupt, they were delivered with more curiosity than animosity.

'He needs to see a Mediwizard,' replied Hermione. 'He's stable now, but it's anyone's guess as to how long that will last.'

'And again I ask, what is it that you want?'

Hermione frowned. 'I'd like your assurances that you'll get Severus the care he needs as soon as possible. The only other thing I'd ask of you is safe passage back to Hogwarts this morning before I'm missed.'

'Surely you won't be leaving us so soon,' said Narcissa, her tone somehow implying the opposite.

Hermione glanced at Snape's careworn face. Each line emphasised the difference between this man and the Severus she knew through his journal, yet they were the same. 'I am grateful for your generous hospitality, but I really need to get back to Hogwarts.'

'You want Severus to know to whom he owes his life, surely? Or perhaps you simply want to get back to tell your little friends.'

Ahah. So that was what was bothering her. 'You and your husband were the ones Severus trusted with his plan, and you've certainly proved that he was right to do so. If anyone finds out that Severus is alive, it won't be from me. As for my role in the proceedings, I really think he'd be happier being indebted to you and your husband than to me.'

Narcissa crossed her arms. 'I'm afraid that's not quite how things work, Miss Granger. Severus owes his life to you now, and to deny him knowledge of how he was saved does him no favours. In fact, it strips him of his ability to repay his debt to you.'

Hermione briefly considered telling Narcissa about her bargain with Severus but was reluctant to disclose the existence of his enchanted journal. 'Given that Voldemort would still be alive if not for you and Severus, I don't think either you or he owe me anything.'

'Do you honestly expect me to believe that you nearly burned down our manor house, bullied our son, and humiliated a trusted family apothecary in order to save the life of a man you despise out of a misplaced sense of obligation?'

'I don't particularly care what you believe, Mrs Malfoy, either of me or of my actions. I should think the fact that your son is still alive and your house is still standing would be sufficient to assure you that my sole intention was to help Severus, whom I certainly don't despise.'

The impact of Hermione's declaration was lessened somewhat when her stomach emitted a loud growl.

Narcissa extended her hand and lifted Hermione's chin with two fingers, scrutinising her face. She seemed to find whatever reassurance she had been seeking, and her cool expression warmed infinitesimally. 'Lucius's personal physician will be here at ten. We'd have summoned him earlier, but you know the French. The Manor's Floo will be sufficient to return you to Hogsmeade, and if you would care to come with me, we will join Lucius and Draco for breakfast in the morning room.'

Hermione blinked in surprise at being invited to join the family for breakfast.

Narcissa's expression hardened again. 'Of course, Snoddy will be happy to bring you a tray if you prefer to eat in your room.'

'That's not what I- I mean,' she stammered to a halt, cleared her throat and tried again. 'Thank you, Mrs Malfoy. I would be delighted to join you for breakfast.'

Narcissa inclined her head slightly in acknowledgement and glided down the hallway. Hermione followed her toward the smell of fresh bacon and what was likely to be a highly entertaining reaction from Draco.

o0o

The body count at Madam Rosmerta's pub was obscenely high. Hermione picked her way through the fallen revellers from the fireplace to the door, skirting the unconscious, many empty glasses, and puddles whose origin she didn't care to contemplate. When she opened the door, a shaft of late morning sunlight fell across the room, eliciting groans and swearing.

She shut the door behind her and found that the morning in Hogsmeade was nearly as beautiful as her morning in France had been, though decidedly less disconcerting. She treaded the familiar path from Hogsmeade towards the castle, breathing in the fresh air, redolent of damp earth and green.

She rounded the curve toward the castle, which revealed Hogwarts's grounds in their full splendour. The Ministry officials were gone, and the expansive lawns appeared exactly as they always had, broken only by the white marble tomb near the forest and the edge of the lake. She was suddenly filled with admiration for the beauty of the place, wishing fervently for Hogwarts to be a safe place once more.

She wandered to the edge of the lake and sat on her favourite sunning stone. Her hand strayed to her bag seemingly of its own accord and pulled out Severus's journal and her quill. She stroked the cover with her hand, wishing he could be with her, wondering what his expression would be when she told him the good news. She fancied she felt an answering pulse of warmth from the book, but she knew it was just the dark cover of the book absorbing the sunshine.

She laid the book open on the rock and ran her fingers over the page before taking up her quill to write his name.

_Hermione._

'We did it- we saved you. You're resting comfortably at Chateau de Malfoy somewhere in Provence under the watchful eye of the Malfoy family Mediwizard.'

_Show me?_

'Of course I will.' It was easier this time, now that she knew what was coming. She didn't need to write on the page, merely close her eyes. She knew they had entered her memories when his fingers brushed hers, which sent a wave of warmth through her. She opened her eyes and looked up at him and briefly wondered how she could have ever thought he was ugly. She felt a fierce, wild pride that she had saved him, and she led him into the Malfoys' bathroom.

'Come see, Severus.'

His hand tightened protectively over hers when Narcissa called her Mudblood, but he stood transfixed by the scene in front of him. When Hermione fainted, the scene faded into darkness, yet she and Severus remained.

'You did it,' he said, eyes shining.

'I couldn't have done it without your help.'

'Obviously,' he said with a wry smile. 'But the fact remains that you successfully saved me from a thoroughly unpleasant demise, and you did it willingly.'

'Of course I did it willingly. I couldn't just let you die.'

Severus's eyes were on hers. 'Why not?'

Hermione swallowed. His face was so close to hers. 'You're a hero,' she whispered.

Severus released her hand suddenly and stepped away from her. 'What am I to you, Hermione?'

Hermione brushed aside the flare of hurt that went through her at the loss of contact. 'You're my teacher-' she began, but Severus interrupted her.

'Not him. Me. What are you getting out of this?'

'Well, you did promise to help me with Potions.'

'Is that all?'

Hermione looked up into his eyes, finding them to be warm and inviting. 'No.' Her voice was so small, she was surprised he heard her at all. She glared at him, angered by her own admission. 'It's not like it matters. You're a magical construct that vaguely represents a person who no longer exists. Why do you care what I think of you?'

'I don't feel like a magical construct,' said Severus.

'You're a very good magical construct.'

'I feel like myself. I feel my heart beating, but I feel other things too.' He raised his hand and extended it towards her face, stopping just short of her cheek. 'I hardly dare to trust whatever forces brought you to me.'

'You're grateful,' whispered Hermione.

'Grateful, yes,' he said, 'but not just that.' He bridged the distance between them and brushed his lips lightly against her cheek as he spoke. 'I have no consciousness when my journal is inactive, yet I feel your absence.'

Hermione's heart was beating so hard it ached. His whispering lips ghosted over her cheek, drawing ever closer to her mouth. All of her awareness was focused on the warm breath on her cheek. Gooseflesh rippled over her, and she was unable to speak.

'I feel your fingers when you touch the pages. I felt you today when you touched me, and I felt your warmth, and I felt in you what I feel. If this isn't real, Hermione, I don't want to know what real is.'

And then he was kissing her, his mouth hot against hers and his hands pressed against her cheeks, as if to convince them both that she was really there. She wrapped one arm around his waist and threaded the fingers of her other hand through his hair, touching him, caressing him, trying to touch him as much as possible.

Severus flung his arms around her and pulled her fiercely to him. 'Gods, Hermione,' he gasped.

She breathed deeply, revelling in the way he smelled of balsam and something indefinably masculine. She nibbled the pale skin of his neck just above the collar of his robe, eliciting a low rumble in his throat that made his entire body vibrate.

Their mouths met again, feeling to Hermione like a heady combination of arousal and wonder, of declaration and exploration. His lips were firm on hers, his tongue gentle, and his hands stroked her hair, her shoulders, and her arms. Hermione felt as if she were flying, spiralling upwards into the sky as Severus kissed her.

'HERMIONE!'

Her eyes flew open, and she realised she was no longer in her memory but on her sunning rock by the lake looking in to the worried face of Ron Weasley.

o0o


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer in Chapter One

o0o

Ron raised a shaking hand to point at the journal. 'What is that?'

'It's a Potions journal,' she said, attempting to close the book. 'I'm using it to prepare for my N.E.W.T.s.'

'Bollocks,' said Ron. 'I had to shake you to bring you back. There's only one thing I know of that can do that.'

'It's not a Horcrux, Ron,' she said, exasperated. 'It's just what I told you- it's a Potions journal that Professor Snape made when he was a student.'

'We know the prat was capable of killing,' insisted Ron. 'How do you know it's not a Horcrux?'

'I did a _Specialis Revelio_ on it.'

'And…?'

'It wasn't red. Besides, it doesn't feel like a Horcrux. I don't know what he did to enchant it, but he certainly didn't murder anyone.'

'I know what I saw, Hermione. I think you should let someone look at it. If not me or Harry, then maybe Professor McGonagall.'

Hermione blinked in surprise. 'Who are you and what have you done with Ron Weasley? Honestly, Ron, it's fine. You know how good Professor Snape was at Potions even when he was a student. I need this book if I'm going to learn potions-making beyond following a recipe.'

'Are you mental?' asked Ron, voice rising. 'You don't have any idea what the thing is and what sort of magic is on it, and you won't let anyone else look at it. If you won't tell anyone else about it, I will.'

Hermione's heart sank at the thought of giving up Severus. 'I'll talk to Ginny. She's the person with the most practical experience with Horcruxes like this. If she thinks the journal is doing to me what Riddle did to her, then we'll destroy it. Does that sound fair?'

Ron looked at her suspiciously. 'Promise you won't write in it until she's had a look.'

She had to admit, Ron's requests were surprisingly reasonable. 'I promise.'

'All right then,' said Ron, obviously taken aback by her acquiescence. 'Well, c'mon, we've got to be at mum and dad's at half twelve.'

Hermione paled. In the excitement of the previous night and the morning, she'd forgotten it was Friday. 'Fred's memorial. Oh, I have so much to put together! See you later, Ron!'

Hermione gave him a quick hug and rushed off towards the castle.

Ron shook his head. 'Women.'

o0o

At quarter past noon, Harry and Ginny were waiting for her and Ron at the bottom of the staircase near the visitor's fireplace.

'It's about time,' said Ginny. 'What were you doing that took so long?'

'I was looking for Hermione,' said Ron, 'and Hermione was beavering away in the Room of Requirement.'

'What for?' asked Harry.

Hermione was unable to suppress a triumphant grin. 'Look.'

She pulled a small box from her handbag and handed it to Harry. His eyebrows shot up when he realised what was inside.

'Is this what I think it is?'

Ron and Ginny crowded on either side of Harry.

Ginny looked at Hermione in surprise. 'You made George a new ear?'

'Not just any ear,' said Hermione excitedly. 'I made it out of Extendable Ears, so it maintains all the usual flexibility and eavesdropping capabilities, but I've also put several charms on it that'll let him move it around, change its shape, adjust the volume, filter out ambient noise, and attach or detach it at will.' She noticed that her friends were staring at her. 'What?' she asked, a bit self-consciously. 'Don't you think he'll like it?'

'Like it? It's brilliant!' exclaimed Ron. 'Mum will kill you if she finds out about the extra features, but George'll love it.' 

'Mum will kill you when she sees the volume knob. It looks just like an earring,' said Ginny admiringly. 'Speaking of which, we'd better get going. She'll also kill us if we're late.'

Ron and Ginny went through the Floo, leaving Harry and Hermione.

Harry shook his head. 'You know that ear is going to encourage George to cause even more mayhem, and quite possibly give Molly an apoplexy.'

'Well, today isn't about what Molly wants. Today is Fred's day, and Fred wanted George to have a brilliant new ear.'

'I'm relieved to hear you say that.'

'Well, it's Fred. We couldn't send him off like an ordinary person.'

'Yeah, that and I'm also a bit nervous about having so many fireworks in my pocket. Can I keep some in your bag?'

'Can't have you losing a buttock,' she agreed, holding open her purse. Her eyes grew wide when Harry began removing boxes and boxes of magical and Muggle fireworks from his pockets.

'Are you planning a fireworks display or a funeral pyre?' she asked.

'With George's help, maybe it'll be a bit of both. I think Arthur will love the Catherine Wheels.'

'I'm awfully glad I put in a noise-blocking function in George's new ear. It'd be sad if he went deaf on the first day he had it.'

Harry grinned. 'I think this is the first funeral I've ever been excited about.'

Hermione squeezed his shoulder. 'I think that's exactly how Fred would have wanted it.'

'Agreed,' said Harry, tossing in a fresh handful of Floo powder and stepping into the flames. 'Now be careful coming through. I gave you all the Muggle aerials, and if they go off, we'll lose the element of surprise.'

'Not to mention a few limbs,' grumbled Hermione, casting a Cooling Charm on her bag. She followed Harry into the flames.

o0o

That night found the fireworks conspirators banished to disparate areas of the Weasleys' property to avoid the righteous wrath of Molly Weasley. The enormous conflagration had attracted not only the attention of the neighbours but also the Ministry of Magic. The Accidental Magical Reversal Squad had finally given up their attempts to dispel the magical fireworks and advised the gathered spectators to enjoy the show.

Harry had paid the fine from his Gringott's account before anyone could stop him, and Molly had grudgingly accepted that any serious attempts to give a speech or sober reflection on Fred's life would be interrupted by glowing rude words overhead. That had not lessened her ire, and the elder Weasley boys were having a laugh over the whole affair while huddled in the attic, while Ron, Hermione, Harry, and Ginny were hiding in Arthur's tinkering shed.

Hermione conjured a fireplace, which made the draughty building almost cosy. Ginny's contributions were Buttergins and tonic. Ron had discovered an ancient spinet with several missing keys under a dust cover and was teaching Harry to play 'Chopsticks.' He'd given Hermione a look and nodded his head at Ginny, and Hermione sighed.

'What's that all about?' asked Ginny, taking a sip from her drink.

'I promised Ron I'd talk to you about something,' said Hermione, settling herself by the fireplace.

'I think you were abundantly clear last night,' said Ginny. 'Yes, Harry and I use protection. Honestly, you and Ron are as bad as Mum sometimes.'

'It's not about you and Harry,' said Hermione, withdrawing the journal from her bag. 'It's about this. It's an enchanted Potions journal, and Ron's convinced it's like Riddle's diary.'

Ginny looked impassively at the book. 'Well, what do you think?'

'It's complicated, but I don't think it is,' said Hermione. 'I've only had the journal for a few days, but it's made me re-evaluate a lot of things. I don't think the journal caused that so much as it revealed things to me and let me draw my own conclusions.'

'Where did you get it?'

'I found it hidden in a room at Hogwarts.'

'What sort of room?'

Hermione described the Room briefly, and Ginny nodded. 'But this journal isn't like the other books that were in the room.'

'No, the maker hid it in the Room of Lost Dreams after he had a row with the girl he liked.'

'Well, whoever he is, he's got a sense of drama,' said Ginny, taking a thoughtful drink. 'I guess the most important question is why it was enchanted, and what sort of effect it's had on you. Are there any times that you can't remember, or have you woken up in the morning covered in chicken feathers or anything like that?'

Hermione smiled. 'No, nothing like that at all. The journal claims it was enchanted to protect the research contained within.'

'Has the maker tried to make you put more into the journal than you felt comfortable with?'

'At first he tried to make me write in it, which I didn't want to do by hand, but it was because he didn't trust me and I didn't trust him. It's different now.'

'You mean you've been writing in it? Has he taken you inside yet? Shown you things?'

'That's what's odd. I haven't been inside his memories, but I've brought him into mine.'

Ginny frowned. 'You let whatever's in that journal into your mind? That's really dangerous, Hermione.'

'I wouldn't have let him if it wasn't important, and it was a matter of life and death.'

Ginny was silent for a moment. 'Has he asked you to share your thoughts and feelings?'

'Not really. Well, sort of, but he didn't specifically ask. Why?'

'Well, that's how it started with Tom. He was just a sympathetic ear and a comforting presence at first, a perfect diary. One day I was crying for some stupid reason, and I told him I wished I could touch him. And then I was inside. He didn't do anything other than hold me while I cried, but that night was the first basilisk attack. I couldn't remember what I'd done, and Tom's assurance that I'd fallen asleep in his arms was so easy to believe.'

A loud crash from the corner of the room made them jump.

'Sorry!' called Ron, who had opened the top of the spinet and dropped the cover. 'Mouse nest.'

_'Evanesco!'_ said Harry. 'Now, show me how to play something else.'

Hermione turned back to Ginny. 'What made you throw the diary away?'

'It was the hardest thing I've ever done,' said Ginny, her eyes fixed on a spot on the floor. 'Tom seemed to know what I was thinking, and he tried everything to get me to stay, but it wasn't comforting anymore; it was scary. He kept saying that I was his only friend, and if I didn't talk to him every day, he'd go spare from loneliness.'

'Ginny,' whispered Hermione.

'I knew I had to end it when he kissed me.'

Hermione was hardly able to keep her voice low. 'Riddle _kissed_ you?'

'He knew I wanted it more than anything- I'd asked him to kiss me before, but he always told me that he knew it was Harry I really wanted, not him. In retrospect, he'd chosen Harry as his target by then and was trying to keep me around as a way to get to Harry. One day, I'd had enough and told him I was leaving and wouldn't be back. Then, he was standing there next to me, and he grabbed me, telling me how much he'd come to love me and that I couldn't leave him. But the moment his lips touched mine, I knew he wasn't my friend. I can't really explain how I knew, there was just something so jarring and cold about the way he kissed, and I pushed him off me, grabbed the diary, ran to the nearest loos, and threw it down the toilet.'

'But you took it back,' said Hermione. 'You stole it from Harry, even though you knew what Riddle was.'

'I couldn't let him hurt Harry,' said Ginny simply. 'And that's enough about Tom. Does your journal man have a name?'

Hermione was horrified to find herself blushing. 'Yes.'

'Hermione,' said Ginny impatiently.

'It's Severus,' she whispered. 'Severus Snape.'

'WHAT?' squawked Ginny.

'Damn it, Ginny, Harry almost had the left hand part!' exclaimed Ron from the keyboard.

'It's all right, Ron. I'll just start over.' Haltingly, Harry picked out the swinging bass pattern of 'Heart and Soul.'

'Nice job, Harry,' said Hermione.

'Yeah, nice,' said Ginny, whose eyes hadn't left Hermione. When the boys were once again distracted by their out-of-tune plunkings, Ginny leaned close to Hermione.

'Are you mad?' she hissed. 'You let Severus Snape, Dumbledore's murderer, Voldemort's representative at Hogwarts, and accomplished Legilimens, inside your head?'

'That's not fair,' said Hermione hotly. 'You know whose side he was on. If he hadn't been, Voldemort would have been able to kill Harry.'

'You weren't at Hogwarts last year,' countered Ginny. 'You didn't see what he did, what he let his Death Eater mates do to us.'

'And you weren't with us in the forest,' retorted Hermione. 'He returned Gryffindor's sword to us. Harry understands the role Severus had to play. Why is it so hard for you?'

'I'd wager Harry wouldn't be so generous if he knew you were letting Snape into your head through magic we don't understand. I'd ask what possessed you, but I think I already know.'

Hermione bit her tongue to prevent a sharp retort from escaping. 'Ginny, you've been extraordinarily helpful tonight, but you need to trust my judgement when I say that based on what you've said tonight, there is no possible way that Severus's Potions journal is enchanted the same way Riddle's diary was.'

The angry spark left Ginny's eye, but her chin was still set stubbornly. 'What makes you so certain?'

'First of all, the Severus in the journal is my age, he's not a Death Eater, and the worst that could be said of him is that he had questionable taste in friends and hexes.'

'Tom was only seventeen when he made his diary,' said Ginny reasonably.

'That may be so, but Riddle was already on his way to becoming the most evil wizard of all time, while Severus went on to be an integral member of the Order of the Phoenix.'

'All right,' conceded Ginny, 'but that can't be your only reason.'

'No,' said Hermione. 'Part of it has to do with the fact that my _Specialis Revelio_ glowed purple around the journal instead of bright red like it was for the other objects Riddle cursed. Part of it has to do with the fact that he hasn't asked me to do anything I felt uncomfortable doing.'

Ginny's look was entirely too understanding. 'What else?'

'You said you could tell what Riddle was from his kiss. Severus's were pure joy.'

Ginny made an incoherent squeak that was, fortunately, not enough to distract Harry and Ron from the noise they were making.

'Don't you see, Ginny? Riddle split his soul to make that diary, and both parts of his soul were diminished and forever tarnished by the experience. Nothing like love could ever come out of a ruined soul, only deception and manipulation. With Severus, everything started with suspicion and nastiness. I let him believe I was Harry's mum to see what he'd tell me, and he kept trying to get me to reveal more about myself. But the moment I spoke to him as myself and we started working together, everything changed. And now I can't think of him without looking forward to seeing him again and learning from him.'

'Hermione, Snape is dead,' said Ginny bluntly. 'I don't know what you've fallen in love with, but it isn't him, and it's not any real person. I don't know what the journal is, but it's done something to you.'

Hermione desperately wanted to tell Ginny that Severus was alive, but her promise to Narcissa was more important than getting Ginny's blessing. What was worse, Hermione was having a crisis of conscience. She'd never considered that the journal might have some enchantments on it that would make her unnaturally attracted to Severus, and she had to admit that her feelings for him had developed more suddenly than she thought possible. However, she wasn't about to surrender the journal to the enchanted book Inquisitorial Squad.

'I haven't fallen in love with him!' she exclaimed. 'I mean, kissing him was wonderful in the moment, but as fun as it was, it was just a celebration of a breakthrough, that's all.'

Ginny looked at her slyly. 'Sort of like when you kissed my brother?'

'Exactly like,' said Hermione. 'And I don't think I'm in any danger of repeating that anytime soon.'

'Until the next breakthrough celebration comes along,' said Ginny. 'Trust me on this, Hermione. Nothing good comes from allowing yourself to get too close to a magical object, especially those that linger when the creator dies.'

'Ginny, if you've ever trusted my judgement, please believe me when I say that it's not as bad as it sounds. I'm not in any danger of losing my heart to an inanimate object. Please trust me to know how close is too close.'

Ginny scrutinised Hermione's face before nodding and tossing back the last of her drink with a flick of her wrist. 'I'm not Ron. I know you're not eleven years old, which already puts you at an advantage. You've also dealt with more Dark Magic than I care to think about. I think I can trust you to be sensible about this.'

Harry and Ron had added vocals to their out-of-tune rendition. 'Heart and soul! La dah dee dah dee dah! Heart and soul! La dah dee dah dee dah! Laaa dah! Dee dum dee dum dah!' Clearly, neither of them knew the words.

Hermione frowned at Ginny. 'What on earth did you put in these drinks?'

Ginny hiccoughed tiredly. 'Just Buttergin and tonic. Of course, I got the tonic from George.'

Hermione tossed the remains of her drink on the fire and blinked as the fire blazed a blinding white. 'These drinks have more alcohol them than hand sanitiser!'

Ginny was mixing herself a second drink. 'So?'

Hermione glanced at Harry and Ron, who were snorting with laughter at a key on the spinet that made an odd clunking noise, and held out her glass to Ginny. 'Good point.'

She raised her newly filled glass. 'To Fred.'

'To Fred!'

o0o


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer in Chapter One

Note: This chapter contains tasteful-ish lemons. I'm not sure why you're reading this if you dislike that sort of thing, but you'd be advised to skip to the next chapter when the snogging starts.

o0o

The next morning, the majority of the magical fireworks had burned out, except for two large 'BOLLOCKS' that had settled on the roof of the Burrow at the base of the chimney. Molly was still angry, but her maternal instincts won out over her sense of vengeance, so there was hot breakfast for them all.

Arthur was working seven days a week to help Kingsley re-organise the Ministry, so the perpetrators sensibly helped with the washing up without having to be asked, and Ginny set herself to dusting. Hermione ended up weeding and de-gnoming the garden with Harry, Ron, and George, who had expanded his new ear like a satellite dish towards the house.

'Mum's letting Bill and Charlie have it,' said George with a grin. 'She thinks they ought to have been able to get rid of our fireworks. Plus, they're older and should have known better.'

'They didn't have anything to do with it, did they?' asked Harry, who was swinging a gnome around his head.

''Course they did. Where do you think I get dragon scales and Sphinx hairballs for the fireworks? Mum suspects, but she doesn't know for sure. It's a jammy deal for me, so I'm not about to tell tales.'

'You're going to keep the shop open, then?' asked Hermione.

'Sure,' said George, whose flying gnome had easily cleared the hedge. 'I'm going to need to find some more help, but it's what me and Fred always wanted. That dream hasn't changed just because Fred's gone.'

'Well, now that You-Know-Who's pushing up daisies, Harry's going to have a lot more time on his hands,' said Ron airily. 'I'm sure he'd be a draw if you wanted to put him to work.'

'No thanks,' said Harry, who had joined Hermione amongst the rutabagas. 'Now that Kingsley's Minister, maybe they'll let me get on with my life.'

'What a perfectly good waste of celebrity,' said George. 'I'd ask King Weasley here, but from the songs, it sounds like he'd be knocking things over too much. How about you, Hermione? Have you ever fantasised about a future in retail?'

'Sorry, I've got a few things to do before I can start thinking about starting a career.'

'Like N.E.W.T.s,' said Harry innocently.

'You're joking!' exclaimed George. 'Did me and Fred's triumphant exit from academia teach you nothing?'

'Please,' said Hermione, standing and brushing the dirt from her hands. 'I could pass my N.E.W.T.s today. However, the Minister and Headmistress have been kind enough to give me free run of Hogwarts until I say I'm ready to take my exams. I have a number of side projects that will require a fair amount of research, and access to Hogwarts should prove quite beneficial.'

'You lied to Shacklebolt and McGonagall?' said George, hardly able to believe his ear.

'I didn't lie. I'm sure everything I glean from my research will be very helpful on my N.E.W.T.s.' said Hermione primly. 'And speaking of which, I have a date with a book.'

'But not literally,' said Ron, giving Hermione a hard look.

'Yeah, no snogging your books,' said Harry with a grin.

'Bibliophiles get no respect,' said Hermione loftily and slung the basket of rutabagas over her arm.

George shook his head as Hermione walked into the house. 'If I'd known a good reputation could get me months of access to Hogwarts's library and kitchens, I might have taken mine a bit more seriously,' he said enviously.

o0o

After depositing the rutabagas in the kitchen and ensuring that the others were occupied, Hermione warded the shed door with a Silent Alarm Charm, and she cast Muffilatio on the off chance that anybody was listening. Severus's journal was open atop a box of old Martin Miggs comics, and her quill was lying next to it. Hermione sat on an old suitcase trying to think of what she wanted to ask first.

This conversation would require delicacy and tact, two things that Hermione wasn't sure she possessed in sufficient quantities to find out what she wanted to know. What was worse, Severus obviously had access to her thoughts and feelings when she was writing, while she was ignorant of his. Still, the Dictoquill would make him think that she didn't trust him, and thus far, he'd given her no reason not to. Quite the opposite, in fact.

Figuring that honesty was the best policy, Hermione took up her quill.

'Severus, it's Hermione.'

_What happened?_

'One of my friends found me catatonic over your journal and had a fit.'

_Are you all right?_

'I'm fine.'

_But you're troubled. What's wrong?_

'What am I to you, Severus?'

_I thought I'd told you as much the last time we spoke._

'I know what you've said, and I know what I felt when we were together, but there's too much I don't know about the magic on your journal, and it scares me that I feel this way about something that isn't even real.'

_Was saving my life real for you, Hermione?'_

'Of course it was.'

_Do you think what I can do for you in Potions is real?_

'That's just it, Severus. You've told me that you're an enchantment protecting the contents of the journal, but I haven't seen anything that looks like research. You told me there are other enchantments on the journal, but you haven't told me what they are or what they're intended to do. What I have seen is that you can read my emotions, enter my memories, and make me feel like I'm falling for you against my better judgement and the advice of my friends. We can't possibly be on even footing like this.'

_Of course we can't be. You're the one who holds all the cards._

Hermione snorted. 'What bizarre logic led you to that conclusion?'

_Don't you see, Hermione? I have no consciousness outside of you, and I have no physical contact with the world except through your memories. I need to be able to sense your thoughts. Otherwise, what would prevent you from lying to me like you did through the Dictoquill? When you wrote in my journal, you became my gaoler. I'm luckier than I can possibly say that you're intelligent and kind. But I am literally nothing without you._

Ginny's warning rang in her ears. 'I'm not your gaoler, Severus. I'm not the one who imprisoned you in the journal, and until you tell me what sort of magic holds you there, I can't do anything to help you.'

Her ink glistened on the page for a moment as he considered his answer.

_I don't know what sort of magic created me._

Hermione swallowed hard. 'I don't know what to tell you, Severus. I'm sorry.'

_Will you put me back where you found me?_

'And let you renege on your offer to teach me Potions? I don't think so. But I can't let you back into my memories, Severus, and when you're tutoring me, I'll need to use the Dictoquill.'

_You are determined?_

'This is the only way it can be, Severus. Even you don't know the extent of the enchantments on the journal. You know far better than I do what magic you were capable of doing to protect your secrets. Would you ask me to expose myself to that?

He was silent for nearly a full minute.

_No, I couldn't ask that of you. But I don't think I could stand being simply your Potions tutor, either. There's only one thing to be done._

'What is it?'

_Give me to the Severus Snape in your life. He's the only one who knows exactly what I am and can either put me out of my misery or make it safe for you to confide in me. You say that he's a hero. If this version of me will no longer exist, then he'll be willing to honour my promise to help you._

While she was horrified at the thought of Professor Snape knowing about her feelings toward his younger self, she supposed that Professor Snape would likely be horrified about his younger self's feelings toward her, as well. Perhaps she and Professor Snape could manage to hold a détente for the duration of their association. However, she was certain that if she returned the book to Professor Snape she'd never see the Severus she'd grown fond of again.

'I will,' she wrote. She was surprised to find that a single tear had dripped from her chin to splash on the pages of the journal. It faded into the page.

_Thank you, Hermione. You were right. It has to be this way._

'I'll miss you,' she whispered, stroking the page.

She heard the ghost of his voice in her ear. _I will miss you, too._

And then they were in her memory, in the tall room filled with bookshelves, against which she was pressed by the length of his warm, hard body. His hands were buried in her hair, and his mouth was pressed against hers.

She nearly forgot to breathe. A belated inhalation cleared her vision, but she was still drowning in the heat of his mouth, unable to do anything other than to run her hands over him, feeling the firm strength of his arms.

When it was his turn to catch his breath, she seized the opportunity to explore his skin, nipping gently at his neck and unbuttoning his robes without conscious thought, needing only to touch him. His sides were smooth and warm, and her fingertips were tingling from the contact. He gasped when she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his sternum, unable to stop herself from rubbing the palms of her hands across the pale skin of his chest.

Panting, he seized her, pulling her body to his. 'Hermione,' he whispered, 'if you keep doing that, I might not be able to stop.'

'Who said anything about stopping?' she asked, hardly recognising the rough whisper as her own. She tilted her hips against his, pressing his hardening arousal firmly against her. 'If this has to be goodbye, then let's make it a good one.'

A shudder went through his body. 'Gods, woman, the things you do to me!'

'The feeling is entirely mutual,' she said, taking his earlobe between her lips, running her tongue over the firm flesh. His answering growl heralded the beginning of the end.

The palms of his hands felt like fire against her skin, and the carpet was soft and thick beneath her. Time slowed, conscious thought dissolved, and all that mattered was assuaging the bone-deep ache within. When he slid into her, he made a soft sound that might have been a moan, but for the fact that there were tears running down his cheeks.

There were tears leaking from the corners of her eyes as well, and he kissed her tenderly. She could taste the salt on his lips, and his gentle thrusts made her feel whole in a way that made her heart hurt. She ran her hands over his back and buttocks, attempting to memorise him with her palms and fingertips.

He looked almost apologetic when his thrusts became harder and less controlled, and she placed her hands on his buttocks, gently but insistently pulling him into her. He met her eyes, understanding what she needed, and angled himself upward so that he was rubbing himself against the upper part of her sex.

The contact was electric. Hermione let out a loud cry and began bucking uncontrollably upwards against him, feeling as if she would die from overstimulation if he continued hitting that particular spot, and yet fearing she would die if it stopped. Severus had also passed the point of no return, and he let out a loud hiss, pumping into her, channelling his desperation and ardour into the involuntary act of their climax.

Together, in the Room of Lost Dreams, they achieved catharsis.

o0o


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer in Chapter One

o0o

Hermione drifted into consciousness, finding herself lying on the floor of Arthur Weasley's shed. She scrubbed her eyes, which were surprisingly gritty, as her sleep-fogged mind began to wake, bringing with it the memory of what she'd done with Severus.

Her first reaction was one of panic, realising not only that she'd done exactly what Ginny had told her not to, but she was also completely at a loss to explain how she'd lost control of the situation. She got to her feet with a groan, as the shed floor was not the most comfortable of sleeping surfaces, and was shocked to find that her back was not the only part of her that was sore. She pressed her hand against her lower abdomen, which was as clothed as it'd been before she entered her memories, and felt an answering twinge from muscles that had been well used.

With a gasp of realisation, Hermione groped for her bag in search of a dose of Contraceptive Potion. Fortunately, there was one left. She knew that she was probably being silly and that she couldn't possibly become pregnant from what had been, as far as she could see, strictly a mental exercise, but given the unknown enchantments on the journal, she didn't wish to take any chances.

She swallowed the bitter potion, feeling the telltale tingle of magic as it entered her stomach, and sat on the suitcase with a shaky sigh. The journal was lying on the floor next to where she had awoke, its cover shining in a sliver of afternoon sun that shone through an opening in the shed wall.

The empty phial fell from her fingers, and Hermione buried her face in her hands as she was buffeted by a dozen conflicting inner voices. Self-hatred, yearning, revulsion, arousal, grief, fury, and an irresistible compulsion to speak to Severus all battled for dominance, and she let them, until the tears ceased falling.

When she raised her head, she jumped, finding Arthur Weasley standing in the doorway scrutinising her.

'I- I thought you were at work.'

'Kingsley sent me home,' he said, sitting next to her on the crate of comics. 'He thought I was needed more here than at the Ministry. For today, at least.' His open features were crossed by a frown. 'Hermione, I don't mean to be forward, but Ginny asked me to find you. I know what you told her was in confidence, but I hope you'll understand why she felt she had to tell me.'

'I do,' said Hermione, her voice thick from having cried for so long. 'I know I've been an idiot about this, and I'm getting rid of it this afternoon. I simply can't trust myself with it any longer.'

'You know how to get rid of it?' asked Arthur in surprise. 'Well, I suppose you do,' he amended hastily. 'I suppose the question I ought to be asking is whether or not I need to ask Ron or Harry to help you.'

'You mean to make sure I really do it,' she said dully.

'Hermione-'

'It's all right, Mr Weasley,' she said, meeting his gaze squarely. 'You're right to be concerned, but Ginny trusted me to know when I got too close. Now that I've reached that point, I hope you can trust me to dispose of it properly.'

Arthur looked distinctly uncomfortable. 'Well, you see, Hermione, I wasn't expecting you to be quite so accommodating on the subject.'

A tiny smile lifted the corner of Hermione's mouth. 'I'd be happy to argue and stamp my foot if it would help.'

'Under normal circumstances, I'd be quite happy to see the journal gone, but…' he trailed off with a futile gesture.

'These aren't ordinary circumstances,' said Hermione, who was doing her best to keep curiosity out of her voice.

'That, and Severus was hardly an ordinary man, as I'm sure you know.'

Hermione froze. 'No, he wasn't,' she said at last.

'Certainly a far cleverer man than I.'

'I don't see how you can say-'

Arthur held up his hand to forestall her protest. 'What I mean is that Severus must have seen Voldemort's attempt on his life coming. What's more, he knew how I'd survived that beast's bite and ought to have prepared accordingly. And downright methodically, if I know the man as well as I thought I did.'

Hermione frowned. If that had been so, Severus had been slipshod not to provide the Malfoys with Sanguinus Solution. Then, an awful thought occurred to Hermione. 'Unless he didn't wish to live.'

Arthur looked rather taken aback. 'The life he lived had to have taken a toll, to be sure,' he said nervously, 'but that seems like an overly dire assessment, don't you think?'

Hermione didn't answer.

Arthur cleared his throat. 'Since this is all speculative anyway, let's assume for the sake of argument that Severus Snape did, in fact, wish to survive the battle at Hogwarts. I'm nowhere near as clever as he, and even I can think of several contingency plans for surviving Voldemort's inevitable attempt on his life.'

'It's an interesting train of thought,' said Hermione, attempting to keep her voice light.

Arthur gave her a piercing look. 'Frankly, Hermione, I'm quite curious about that journal. If it contains any part of Severus, he might be able to provide insights into his plans.'

Hermione felt a sinking feeling, but asked anyway. 'Why would that be important, Mr. Weasley? He's dead.'

Arthur leaned towards her, his eyes flicking from right to left in search of eavesdroppers. 'It is my strong suspicion that Severus Snape survived the snake's bite,' he said quietly. 'Furthermore, I had it from Kingsley that you Floo called him two nights ago seeking information on Severus's body, which leads me to believe that at the time you believed him to be alive, as well.'

The sinking feeling solidified in the pit of her stomach. 'I don't know what to say, Mr. Weasley.'

Arthur's eyes widened. 'Good gracious, I hope you didn't think I was implying you had anything to do with the body's disap-' He paused to collect himself. 'What I mean to say is that it was never my intention to- oh fiddlesticks, Hermione. I just want you to know that I can provide a friendly ear. I might even be able to help you, if you need it.'

'But you'd have to inform the Ministry, wouldn't you?'

'Well, I'd tell Kingsley, surely, but not because he's Minister. I'd tell him because he's a fine Auror, and we might be able to help him. Besides, missing war dead are not my responsibility, so that's as far as the information would go.'

Hermione shook her head sadly. 'The journal isn't safe, Mr. Weasley. And if it makes you feel better, the Severus in the journal couldn't be further from the Severus Snape who taught at Hogwarts, except for the fact that both are dangerous in ways known and unknown.'

Arthur squeezed her hand. 'That's for certain,' he said. 'Well, I'm glad we had this talk, Hermione. And no matter what happens, I want you to know that my offer to help stands.'

She smiled gratefully at him. 'Thank you for being so understanding, Mr Weasley. One thing I can tell you with a fair degree of confidence is that Severus is in a better place now.'

'Well, that's exactly what I'd have for him,' said Arthur, rising at last. 'I think I'll go see what the boys are up to. An owl dropped off some post for you three not long after I got home.'

'I'll be in before too long.'

'Molly'll be serving tea. You'll want to be there before the chocolate biscuits are gone.'

'I will, thanks. Won't be a minute.'

Arthur gave her a quick smile and left by the side door to the garden.

'Hoi, Pig! Are you there?' she called.

From within the owl box in the corner of the shed came a squeaky yawn. The bird's lethargy didn't last long, and before she knew it the tiny owl was fluttering excitedly around her, hooting enthusiastically.

'Hang on, Pig, it'll be just a moment.'

Pig landed on the spinet stool and hooted impatiently at her.

Hermione grabbed a spare bit of parchment from her bag and scribbled a quick note on it. She wrapped it carefully around Severus's journal and handed it to the owl. She caressed its cover unconsciously and held it out to the excitable owl.

'It's going to Chateau de Malfoy, somewhere in the south of France. Think you're all right for such a long flight?'

Pig drew himself up to his full, unimpressive height.

Hermione burst out laughing. 'All right. Have a safe flight.'

The owl bobbed his head up and down, either in excitement or acknowledgement, and began flapping his wings. After several seconds, he rose slowly into the air, the diary grasped tightly in his talons.

Hermione watched Pigwidgeon dart off through the hayloft door into the early afternoon sun.

'No, Pig! France is _south_ of here!' she shouted.

The owl spun dizzily in the sky, but ultimately ended up going in the correct direction.

Hermione shook her head, uncertain whether to laugh or cry.

'Godspeed, Severus,' she whispered.

She sat down on the spinet stool with a sigh. On an impulse, she lifted the dark wood cover. The aged ivory had yellowed but a surprising percentage of the keys were still intact for so old an instrument.

Haltingly, she picked out the bass line of 'Heart and Soul,' remembering her piano tutor's particular hatred of the song with a smile. The fingers of her left hand bounced merrily from key to key, as if she hadn't taken a nine-year hiatus from piano.

Encouraged, she added the right hand melody, unevenly at first, but eventually with the same ease as the left hand. Before she knew it, she was singing Harry and Ron's nonsense along with her playing.

'Heart and soul! La dah dee dah dee dah! Heart and soul! La dah dee dah dee-'

And suddenly, she knew.

Her fingers dropped tunelessly onto the keys.

'Damocles's Doddle!' she swore. 'He didn't!'

She grabbed her bag and began pulling things haphazardly out of it until she found _Secrets of the Darkest Art_.

o0o

Afternoon tea at Chateau de Malfoy was perhaps the perfect meal, with copious amounts of fragrant estate honey drizzled over crumpets. Tea was nearly superfluous.

'I'm relieved to see your appetite's returned,' said Narcissa, taking a dainty sip from her cup.

'You try not eating for four days and see what it does to you,' grumbled the man to her left, as he furtively took another bit of cake.

'You misunderstand me, dear. I simply meant that you seem to be returning to health, and I'm glad of it.'

'Yes, you'll be rid of me soon,' he agreed.

'Severus,' she said with exasperation. 'We wouldn't have you go before you are healed and ready to face the world.'

'I think I'm far better suited to fading into obscurity,' he said, giving the cakes a rest and blowing across the surface of his tea.

Narcissa shook her serviette at him. 'You are impossible. Lucius, do talk some sense into him.'

'Hmmm?' came a voice from behind a large newspaper.

'Lucius, have you heard a word of our conversation?' asked Narcissa with a trilling laugh. 'You've been positively mum since the post arrived. Whatever can you be looking at?'

'Business, my pet. Nothing at all that would interest you.'

'Lucius,' said Narcissa in a warning tone. 'You haven't put any more money on that clip-winged nag of yours?'

Lucius set down the paper with a sigh. 'Not as such, no,' he said, tossing a plain black book into the centre of the table. 'Does this mean something to you, Severus?'

Severus glanced at the book. 'I don't care to wager, Lucius, and I fail to see why-'

He ceased speaking abruptly as the colour drained from his face.

He seized the book and turned it over in his hands, examining it with care. 'Where in the Ninth Circle did you get this, Lucius?'

'It is yours, then,' said Lucius with satisfaction. 'I oughtn't be surprised. A pricklier set of protection spells I've never seen.'

Narcissa was eyeing the book with trepidation. 'It looks rather like that old diary He gave you, Lucius.'

'It's not,' said Severus shortly. 'It's quite the opposite. Who sent it to you, Lucius?'

'An associate of mine who is the soul of discretion,' said Lucius. 'Now, if you'd care to tell us why you turned an attractive shade of chalk when you laid eyes on it, perhaps I could be prevailed upon to help you destroy it.'

'No!' snapped Severus. As if realising his error, he cleared his throat and took a sip of tea. 'It's not as simple as destroying it,' he said. 'The question of what is to be done with the thing bears consideration.'

Lucius made a flourishing motion with his wand, and the book leapt from Severus's grasp into his own outstretched hand. 'I'm sorry Severus, I'm afraid I need convincing that it's harmless before allowing a convalescent to handle it.'

Severus glared at him. 'As I was the one who enchanted the damned thing, I'm the last person who ought to be worried about using it.'

Lucius beamed at the admission. 'That wasn't so hard, was it? Now, what did you enchant it to do?'

'It contains nothing that you'd understand,' said Severus shortly.

Lucius smiled. 'It can't have been anything that important, otherwise you wouldn't have abandoned it at Hogwarts.'

Severus slammed his palm down on the table. 'Damn it, Lucius, who sent it? Who knows I'm here?'

'Nobody at all,' said Narcissa, placing a calming hand on his arm. 'Nobody with whom you need concern yourself.'

'Well, which is it?' demanded Severus, struggling to his feet. 'Nobody at all, or nobody important?'

'Both,' said Lucius, seemingly unperturbed by Severus's agitation. 'Do sit, dear man. You'll tire yourself.'

'I demand an answer.'

'The person who sent the journal is one of the medical staff who contributed to your dramatic recovery,' said Lucius, watching Severus closely.

'Well, if you'd bothered bringing someone competent in the first place, you wouldn't have needed to invite an expert from England,' said Severus, lightly rubbing the bandage that was fastened loosely over his wound. 'But that does narrow the field considerably. Very few were privy to Arthur Weasley's rather unorthodox treatment when he was bitten by Nagini.'

'You mean there's precedent for sewing skin?' asked Narcissa, wrinkling her nose.

'Quite a number, yes,' said Severus. 'You may have forgotten that I grew up in a Muggle village. Stitches were not an uncommon treatment for injury.'

'Vile-sounding stuff, catgut,' commented Lucius. 'Sounds like a Scottish pudding.'

'If you'd bothered telling us that an obscure potion and catgut would be needed to revive you, we would have had it on hand,' said Narcissa, giving Severus a hard look.

'Impossible, I'm afraid,' he said, seating himself once more. 'Not only would it have given away my plan entirely should the Dark Lord have attempted Legilimency on you or Lucius, but Sanguinus Solution is viable only for a few days after brewing, and any reasonably well-stocked apothecary would have it.'

Narcissa's frown deepened. 'Monsieur Aubergine is a trusted apothecary whose family has served the Malfoys since-'

'-Before wands were invented, no doubt,' sniffed Severus. 'But all this is beside the point. The journal arrived in the afternoon post, which means that it came from overseas. As the only people in the world who know of my survival currently live in or near this chateau, it is obvious that the secret of my survival is not as safe as you led me to believe.'

'You needn't worry about absurdities like being invited to cut ribbons at orphanages,' said Lucius.

'Who was it, Lucius? I will have either an answer or my journal.'

The Malfoys looked at one another. 'Severus, please don't upset yourself,' said Narcissa at last.

'It is your husband's refusal to give me what is mine that is upsetting me,' said Severus. 'That and your reluctance to tell me information that will have a profound effect on my future plans. I don't take well to being mollycoddled.'

'Then kindly act like a sensible adult. There's nothing to be gained by exhausting yourself this way,' said Narcissa, meeting his glare with a cool one of her own.

'All will be revealed, old friend,' said Lucius. 'But you really ought to be in bed. Don't trouble yourself about minutiae.'

'Someone has found one of my most private effects,' said Severus. 'In fact, if the finder sent it to me now, then it is likely that he or she knows precisely what it is.'

Narcissa nodded shrewdly. 'Then it's possible that the journal might have helped her understand exactly how to help you?'

'Her? I knew it! It's Poppy Pomfrey, isn't it?' cried Severus, leaping to his feet. His knees gave out and he slumped against the table.

'Snoddy!' called Narcissa. 'Take Severus to his room immediately,' she said when the elf appeared.

He bowed low, and Severus scowled as the elf took his arm. 'My journal, if you please? Unless you'd like to pry painfully into my other affairs?'

Narcissa sighed. 'Very well, give him the dratted journal, as well. And do see that he actually gets into bed, would you, Snoddy?'

The elf Summoned the book with a snap of his fingers, and with a soft pop he and Severus disappeared, but not before Severus shot Narcissa a poisonous glare.

Narcissa pursed her lips and savagely crushed a fragment of biscuit with her teaspoon. 'I knew the girl wouldn't be able to leave well enough alone. She's ruined everything.'

'Be fair, dearest,' said Lucius, withdrawing a piece of parchment from his pocket. 'Miss Granger hasn't broken our confidence. She was kind enough to inform us that she isn't the only one to find Severus's alleged death suspicious. It makes sense, considering that a mere schoolgirl possessed of only the barest facts was able to deduce the truth.'

He handed his wife the parchment, and she began to read, snorting periodically. 'Someone really ought to teach that girl something about subtlety. 'Others will be suspicious because there's no body'' she read aloud. ''And please don't take that to mean that you ought to kill someone to take Severus's place. Or if you do, please Obliviate me so I won't know it was my idea.' Really, as if we've ever killed anybody who didn't deserve it.'

'Still, dashed sporting of her to let us know, by Gryffindor standards. Though it does make one wonder what in that diary made her return it to him, now of all times.'

'You didn't read it?' asked Narcissa with a frown.

'There was nothing to read, my pet. It was completely empty, except when it called me names for attempting to access its contents.'

'Just like the Dark Lord's diary,' whispered Narcissa, going slightly pale.

'Nonsense. Severus says it's not the same, and I will accept his assurances. Now, let's finish tea and then I'll write to Miss Granger to see if I coax some additional information about the journal out of her. Severus is bound to be a closed book on the subject, and her previous missive shows a most useful propensity towards frankness.'

'Excellent,' said Narcissa, rising. 'Be so good as to give her my regards.'

'Shall I ask her to supper next week?' asked Lucius with a wicked gleam in his eye.

'No need to go too far,' replied his wife.

'Perish the thought,' he said, drawing her into a warm embrace.

o0o


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer in Chapter One

o0o

The chocolate biscuits and other Weasleys had disappeared by the time Hermione joined Harry and Ron for tea, but Harry and Ron's gaiety more than enough made up for it. She nearly upset her tea when they told her the reason for their high spirits.

'You're joking!' she exclaimed.

'Nope!' said Ron, grinning. 'It's right there on the parchment. We're in, the three of us!'

'But it's impossible! You need to have at least five N.E.W.T.s in order to enter Auror training.'

'I reckon Kingsley pulled some strings for us,' said Harry. 'It's not like we couldn't get five N.E.W.T.s if we sat them after this year.'

'But we haven't sat our exams! It would be blatant favouritism to let us to start Auror training right now.'

'Well, not quite now,' said Ron. 'Term starts in three days. We're to report tomorrow to learn our way around.'

'But it means working for the Ministry. Kingsley's only Interim Minister. What if he gets replaced by someone awful like Umbridge?'

'Well, then it'll be handy to know how the Ministry works,' said Harry. 'We'd beat her at her own game.'

'I don't know, Harry,' she said frowning. 'This is an awfully big decision to make just like that.'

'But we're not just making it,' said Ron. 'This is what we wanted to do.'

'No, this is what Harry wanted to do,' said Hermione. 'You wanted to play Seeker for the Cannons.'

Ron's ears went red. 'I've grown up a bit since then, Hermione.'

'That's exactly my point,' she said patiently. 'Given our experiences of the past year, we could do anything. There's no sense in deciding something like this simply because it's what we wanted once.'

'Well, maybe Harry and me still want it,' said Ron. 'It'll be a far sight better than sitting the sodding N.E.W.T.s.'

Hermione's lips thinned. 'If you want to take the first thing that you're offered like a complete plonker, then fine.'

'He's right, Hermione,' said Harry, reluctantly stepping into the fray. 'This is what both of us want to do.'

'Don't you think you could do better? Aim a bit higher?'

'We're not bloody Slytherins, Hermione,' said Ron.

'Besides,' said Harry philosophically, 'Auror training takes about a year, so we'll be sitting exams at the same time, just slightly different ones.'

Hermione looked back and forth between her friends. 'This is really what you want?'

'Yeah.'

''Course it is.'

'Then good luck,' said Hermione, eyes filling with tears again.

'Hermione!' exclaimed Ron, hugging her. 'We're not going to Calcutta. We'll be in London.'

'You're sure you won't join us?' asked Harry doubtfully.

Hermione laughed wetly. 'No, I've other things planned.'

'Revision and House-Elf rights, then,' said Ron with a wink. 'We'd better get back to Hogwarts before Mum sets us to doing more chores. Harry and I have got to pack tonight, and you've got tonight to tell us how much you'll miss us.'

'Oh, awfully,' said Hermione, smiling a little. 'Who's going to distract me from all the difficult Arithmancy revision I need to do?'

'We'll write,' said Harry.

'Especially when we need help with Charms, Transfiguration, and Potions,' said Ron

'You forgot the character and aptitude tests,' said Hermione.

Ron pshawed this. 'As if anyone needs character or aptitude in real life.'

All three dissolved into laughter, which abated only when they were interrupted by the sound of a throat being cleared. They turned in unison to find Ginny standing in the doorway.

'Where were you all morning, Hermione?' she asked, her intense look belying the light tone of her words. 'You missed all the window-washing fun.'

'I accidentally fell asleep out in your dad's shed,' said Hermione, settling for a slightly edited version of the truth. 'Then, we had a cosy little chat.'

'Don't give her a hard time, Gin,' said Ron. 'Well, except for giving Mum so many rutabagas. I hate rutabagas.'

A look passed between Harry and Ginny. He nodded, then turned to Hermione. 'We'll get you when it's time to go.'

'Fine. See you then.'

The boys left, leaving the girls alone in the sitting room.

'It's gone,' said Hermione. 'That's what you want to hear, isn't it?'

'I had to tell Dad,' said Ginny, having the grace to look abashed.

'I'm glad you did,' said Hermione, not untruthfully. If Arthur hadn't approached her, she wouldn't have been able to warn the Malfoys about the semi-official questions about Severus's demise.

'Really?' asked Ginny doubtfully. 'I thought you'd never want to speak to me again.'

'Well, I can't say I was exactly pleased at the time,' she admitted, 'but it was for the best, and now the journal's gone where it can't enchant anyone else.'

'So you do think it was meant to enchant you?'

'In a way,' said Hermione. 'I don't think it would have worked on just anybody.'

Ginny's eyes widened. 'So what did Snape do to it?'

Hermione didn't answer her.

'Come off it, Hermione!' exclaimed Ginny, flopping down on the sofa. 'You were in danger. You admitted as much yourself. Aren't you glad I told Dad instead of Ron and Harry?'

Hermione smiled in spite of herself. 'Do you remember what I said about Tom Riddle splitting his soul to make his diary?'

'Yeah. Harry said it's called a Horcrux. That's one of the thousands of things I won't be telling Dad.'

'Well, I found a book that talks about making them called _Secrets of the Darkest Art_.'

'You know how to MAKE them?'

'I just read it to learn how to destroy them, Ginny. Professor Dumbledore removed all the protections on it. And don't worry. I like my soul as it is, thanks very much.'

Ginny shook her head and took a bite of biscuit. 'I just never figured you'd dare read up on the Dark Arts. I mean, I know Harry says he's cast Unforgivables, but I never thought about you or Ron having to do anything like that.'

'An awful lot happened this year,' said Hermione. 'Now, back to Severus's diary.'

'So it _was_ a Horcrux,' breathed Ginny.

'It wasn't a Horcrux.'

'Then quit faffing about and tell me what it was!'

Hermione swallowed. '_Secrets of the Darkest Art_ has more in it than practical instructions for splitting your soul. It also features a chapter about preparing yourself to do it.'

'What, like drinking extra water and not eating any solid food?' asked Ginny.

'Something a bit more drastic. You see, splitting your soul can get messy, with remnants of you clinging to the split part of it. It's one of the biggest complications in making Horcruxes. The mind is usually controlled enough not to cleave to the soul, but the heart sometimes sacrifices itself and is torn during the sundering process.'

'Persephone's Pants,' breathed Ginny.

'The book suggests a 'sensible prophylactic measure'- simply remove the heart, and you don't have to worry about the agony of having it torn to bits. The book talks about the heart like it's an unnecessary and potentially harmful part, like an appendix. That's why I never considered what could happen if someone's heart became trapped in an object.'

'You think Snape removed his heart and put it in his journal?' Ginny looked horrified. 'Why would he do that?'

Hermione lowered her voice. 'He might have wanted to spare himself the pain of losing someone. Who knows, he might not have done it on purpose. He might not even know it's gone.'

Ginny looked sceptical. 'How could you accidentally remove your own heart?'

'The same way Harry accidentally became a Horcrux. The ingredients and magic were there, and it just sort of happened. Casting advanced protective magic on his journal could have done it, especially if he did it not long after its intended recipient broke his heart,' said Hermione.

'Blimey,' said Ginny. 'Well, on the upside, he seemed to do all right without it.'

'If you consider living a half-existence as a hateful, vindictive, emotional toddler 'all right,'' said Hermione hotly. 'It's a tragedy! Think what he might have done! He might not have joined Voldemort. He might have fallen in love and had a family. He might have been happy!' 

'And if that had happened, Harry would have never been able to kill Voldemort,' said Ginny. 'Snape made a sacrifice. So did Professor Dumbledore. So did Harry's mum. So did you, Ron, and Harry. You all made your own choices. Dad says that it doesn't do any good to think about the what-ifs. You'll just what-if yourself into misery.'

'I'm already there,' said Hermione. She was surprised to feel another tear running down her face. She thought she'd used them all.

'You did love him, didn't you?' asked Ginny softly.

'I don't know. Maybe his concentrated passions overpowered my common sense. Or maybe all the feelings were his and I was just a convenient receptacle for them,' said Hermione.

'But it felt like love all the same.'

'Yes, it did.'

'You did the right thing,' said Ginny, smoothing Hermione's hair with her hand. 'You don't think that it'll cause any more trouble once the book's destroyed, do you?'

'I don't think so. The book says sundered hearts disappear when they're separated from a corporeal receptacle, like a person or an enchanted object,' said Hermione, rubbing her tears away. 'Hearts are less hardy than souls, I guess.'

'Then perhaps it means something that the protection spells he put on the journal let his heart live on, even after his death.'

An image of Professor Snape blasting the journal into oblivion appeared in her mind's eye. 'It means I've killed it,' said Hermione. 

'Or maybe you set it free.'

The girls sat in companionable silence until Harry and Ron appeared to take Hermione back to Hogwarts.

o0o

Hermione had expected Hogwarts to be much quieter after Ron and Harry left for Auror training, but she was on her feet constantly, between her own Lycanthropy research, helping Madam Pomfrey with brewing and administering potions, owling her friends, refusing offers of interviews and ribbon cuttings, and prevaricating to Lucius Malfoy, who'd been persistently seeking information on Severus's journal. She finally gave in to her temper and wrote, 'If you want to know so badly, ASK HIM!' She hadn't received a reply, and the subsequent relief combined with her hectic schedule kept her far too busy to mope. Much.

Her thoughts still fled to him when she found an obviously faulty conclusion in a peer-reviewed journal, or when she came across a potion he'd taught in long-ago Potions classes. It had only been a matter of weeks since returning Severus's journal, but it was getting harder and harder to separate the boy she loved from the man she'd known.

The summer passed and students returned to Hogwarts, which was now virtually indistinguishable from what it had been before Voldemort's assault. The Headmistress had been unable to dissuade the Minister from installing a plaque honouring the dead at the place where Voldemort fell. It was so typical of him to have died nearest the Slytherin table. Hermione wondered how many times Harry's face would be stepped, spilt, or spit on over the years.

Hermione was relieved that her heartache lessened with time, and before she knew it Hagrid was dragging oversized firs into the school in preparation for Christmas. She was unsurprised that Severus had not made a grand re-appearance, given the extent of his injuries and the fact that the Wizengamot was hopelessly deadlocked on whether or not Severus Snape should be posthumously convicted of murder, despite Harry's official statement to the contrary. She did her best not to think of him, instead choosing to focus on her final letters to Harry and Ron before they were allowed to come home for the holidays.

She described the progress she'd made in her Lycanthropy research in layman's terms for them, hoping the boys would at least remember the difference between wrackspurt and spackroot, and encouraged them to use the planners she'd given them when preparing for exams. The planners had resurfaced not long after Fred's memorial, and imagining their faces when they opened her package still made her giggle.

She signed the letters with a grin and made her way to the owlery with a light heart. The room was frigid, but at least it was protected from the wind that whistled through the open windows. She approached two owls that were perched next to each other and fastened the letters to their legs. They hooted disconsolately, as if reluctant to leave their sheltered tower.

'London's not that far,' she said comfortingly. At the owls' downcast expressions, she sighed impatiently and fed them both treats. 'Honestly, it's not as if I'm sending you with packages or anything.'

'If you didn't want mournful expressions, you shouldn't have given your letters to barn owls,' came a familiar voice from behind her.

Hermione spun about to see Severus Snape emerging from a Demiguise-hair cloak.

o0o


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer in Chapter One

o0o

Hermione's heart began to pound. She barely recognised the man in front of her; he had traded his oppressive black for robes of dark grey, which were shot through with silver thread. His scowl was familiar, but the lines on his face were neither as plentiful or severe as she remembered. He was neither Professor Snape nor Severus, and yet both. 'You-' she began.

'Yes, me,' he said testily. 'Let's just pretend that you gawped at me like a beached perch, then were rebuffed when you attempted to fling yourself into my arms, which, I'd like to point out, are not waiting. After ten minutes of weepy hysterics and name-calling, you finally calmed down enough to invite me to speak with you in whatever part of this godforsaken castle you call home.'

Hermione's mouth snapped shut. He certainly sounded like Professor Snape, and he was very obviously trying to intimidate her. However, he seemed to have forgotten that she'd spent a year fighting Dark Wizards. Her sense of awe was further dulled by having seen him suspended nude over the Malfoys' bathtub. 'You do realise that sending me an owl would have been a far simpler way of having a conversation with me.'

'I hope you'll pardon my current aversion to your writing,' he sneered in response. 'Between your needlessly discursive Potions essays and your scrawling all over my private property, I've seen enough of it to last me a lifetime. And what the devil do you think you're doing?'

Her head was slightly tilted, trying to catch a glimpse of his neck where Nagini's bite had been. 'It's hardly scarred at all. It'll have faded completely in a year or two.'

'Have you heard a word I've said, idiot girl?' he asked, pulling himself up to his full height.

Hermione felt an extraordinary lightness, as if she were floating. He was healthy, he was in full possession of his mind, and he had come to see her. Not even his characteristically sharp tongue could distract her from those facts. 'Sorry,' she said, 'I wasn't aware that you'd said anything that required a response.'

He stared at her in unflattering disbelief. 'You-!' he sputtered.

'Yes, me,' she said, unable to keep amusement from her voice. 'Impertinent, obnoxious, know-it-all. I'd continue, but my thesaurus is at my parents'.'

He was still looking at her as if she'd grown a second head, and Hermione wondered if she'd made a mistake to treat him as informally she had Severus. The last thing she wanted was for him to leave without explaining why he'd come. She decided to err on the side of caution.

'I beg your pardon, sir, you did say something about taking this conversation somewhere private. If you'll follow me, my room is this way.'

'No,' he said, his expression hardening. 'Perhaps there's someplace closer? More neutral?'

Hermione was shocked to recognise the emotion emanating from him as nervousness. 'Did you have somewhere specific in mind?' she asked, doing her best to keep the curiosity out of her voice.

'Yes,' he said, pulling on his cloak. His invisible hand seized the sleeve of her robe and began towing her down the stairs to the castle.

'Stop pulling so hard!' she hissed. 'People will think I'm Lady MacBeth!'

Her admonishment had the desired effect, and he slowed down.

She knew where he was taking her long before they arrived. When they stopped by dancing trolls' tapestry, the prima ballerina paused in the midst of her 'dying swan' to wave merrily at them.

The silvery door appeared, and Severus led her into the Room of Lost Dreams.

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He closed the door behind her and removed his Invisibility Cloak once more.

Hermione was unable to control the burning flush that spread across her cheeks, remembering the last time she'd been in the room with him. 'This is your idea of somewhere more neutral?'

'Spare me the virginal blushing, Miss Granger.'

'It wasn't virginal,' she retorted, refusing to let her discomfiture get the better of her. 'Why here?'

'I should think it obvious. I want to ravish you against the wall and fill your head with sweet nothings. Isn't that what you want from me?'

'Not like this!' she snapped, nettled by his sarcasm. Obviously, her Severus had told him what had developed between them. She made a Herculean effort to hold back the mortified tears that were stinging her eyes. 'And I didn't mean to ask why you brought me here, I meant to ask, why did you hide it here, of all places?'

'Do you know how one enters this room, Hermione?'

His use of her given name made her weaker in the knees than she cared to admit. She forced herself to think for a moment. 'My guess is that you have to express altruistic sentiment. The room wouldn't admit someone bent on blackmail, surely.'

'So nearly a complete answer,' he said, pacing a slow circuit around the room. 'The Room of Lost Dreams can only be accessed by someone whose foremost thoughts are not on their own dreams, but on someone else's.'

Hermione gave a hollow laugh. 'Is that all?'

'Have you any idea how rare a thing that is in this school? In the thousand years of Hogwarts's existence, and of the hundreds of thousands who have passed through this hallway, unaware that in doing so they left behind a record of their deepest, most secret desires, only a handful of people have ever seen this room. And yet, here stand two of them.'

In spite of her embarrassment, Hermione's mind was still attempting to put the pieces together. If Severus had brought the Potions journal he had compiled and enchanted for Lily into the Room of Lost Dreams, it only made sense that it was his concern for her dreams that had allowed him to access the room. He must have seen something here that made him despair enough to sunder his heart and leave the book behind.

'Please, sir, why did you leave it here for all this time?'

He didn't even blink. 'I hadn't much use for it, and neither did its intended recipient.'

'I didn't mean the journal,' she said.

He glared at her. 'Neither did I.'

Hermione was silent for a moment before her curiosity got the better of her. 'Please sir, what have you done with it?'

He pulled the familiar notebook from his robes and handed it to her. 'See for yourself.'

The moment her fingers closed over the cover, she knew her Severus was gone. There was no flicker of awareness, and she felt its loss keenly. She opened its cover and found its pages filled with Potions recipes, instructions, and diagrams, painstakingly printed. Her rational mind pointed out that it would be useful in her lycanthropy research, but her grief at losing the Severus she loved was raw, and was compressed with every beat of her heart into something that felt like fury.

'If you came all this way just to give me a guide to the effing art of Potions brewing, you can go back to the Malfoys. Your debt is repaid in full. Unless you have something else to say to me, leave me the hell alone.'

Her anger seemed to surprise him, but he quickly covered it with his habitual scowl. 'You needlessly complicate things by denigrating that which I offer in payment of a debt,' he said stiffly. 'Given that Potions tutelage is the least of my debts to you, I can only conclude that you wish to hold a favour in reserve until you need it. However, I owe favours to a great many people, so things would be greatly simplified if you could tell me what must be done to settle our account.'

Her distaste must have shown on her face, because Severus was still scowling down his nose at her.

'Come now, Miss Granger. Surely you can think of something you'd like as an even trade for something that's worth as little to you as my life? A lifetime supply of hair serum, perhaps?'

'I don't expect anything from you!' she exclaimed, exasperated. 'You came to Hogwarts when all you needed to do was owl me the journal, and you've yet to offer any sensible reason for doing so. You've offered me only insults and turned what I did out of concern for you into a business transaction. I don't know what you expect to gain from it, unless it's to make me stay away from you, but I was already doing that. Why, Severus? What do you want from me?'

His scowl faded into inscrutability, and he approached her, stopping a metre or two away. Again, she could sense his unease. 'You loved me once,' he said uncertainly.

His anxiety was not enough to make her forget the dead book that was still clutched in her hand. 'I loved once,' she said, 'but I've not seen any sign that it was you I loved.'

He blinked in surprise, and Hermione thought she saw understanding flash in his eyes.

'You little idiot,' he said at last.

Hermione was torn between taking offence at the insult and fighting down the absurd sense of hope that flared to life at the warmth in his voice. She chose to remain silent.

'I suppose it may have been a bit much for me to assume that you'd grasped the full importance of the fact that someone incapable of valuing someone else's happiness over his own couldn't enter this room. You've had something of a shock, which I suppose accounts for your uncharacteristically sluggish analysis of the situation, but I do hope that in light of this, you'll absolve me of killing your paramour.'

Between his proximity and the gravity of his implication, Hermione had to sit. She collapsed in the chair by the fire and stared up at him, her eyes wide with wonder. 'You did it. You put yourself back together again.'

'I'd give points if such a conclusion didn't imply a thorough grounding in darkest magic.'

'I'd accept points if you still had the authority to grant them,' said Hermione, hardly daring to believe her ears. 'It must have been incredibly painful.'

'It was hardly so dire as that.'

'Wasn't it? People have died trying to re-attach split souls, and the heart is a great deal more sensitive. And beyond the shock of rejoining, getting used to it, especially in the aftermath of a war…' she trailed off lamely. 'I can't imagine what you've been through in these past months.'

'I will not insult your intelligence by telling you that my reconciliation has been simple or easy. Fortunately, my physical wounds were severe enough for Lucius and Narcissa to mistakenly assume that they were the cause of my excessively vituperative personality.'

The apparent understatement made her smile. 'As compared to your regularly vituperative personality?'

He approached her, scrutinising her face. She was surprised to see the eyes that had so often looked at her with calumny shining with something entirely different. 'In the time I have had to closely observe the heart, I conclude that it's an incredibly stubborn organ.'

'And not terribly sensible,' she agreed. 'This room is filled with evidence to support your conclusion.'

'Indeed. However, my recent study uncovered an intriguing complication.'

Hermione rose from her chair, hardly aware that she had done so. To her surprise, the man before her seemed to be nearly as drawn her as she was to him. She felt as though the room were spinning around her and only she and Severus were stationary in the centre.

'What sort of complication?'

He cleared his throat. 'The stubborn organ seems to be labouring under the delusion that it belongs not to me but to someone else.'

Hermione was unable to contain a joyful smile. 'Nature abhors a vacuum and strives for equilibrium, Severus' she said. 'It stands to reason that if your heart has left you, that someone else's heart has taken its place.'

'Past experimentation has not proved that hypothesis to be true,' he said, his expression darkening.

She laid her hand on his forearm. 'Surely a single experiment is insufficient to prove or disprove any hypothesis. Any number of factors might have caused it to fail. What's important, I think, is trying it again.'

'Given that you and my heart have been conspiring against me, I shouldn't be surprised that your advice and its are nearly identical. Do you know what the dratted thing made me promise before it agreed to return to its rightful place?'

'That the next time you make plans to cheat death you leave more detailed information of how to revive you?'

Severus's smile would have been indistinguishable from a smirk but for the way the corners of his eyes crinkled. 'Nothing so sensible as that. Apparently, overexposure to Gyffindor sentimentality has dulled it somewhat. It made me promise to listen to it occasionally.'

He was standing so close to her that she caught a whiff of balsam, and a pert reply died on her tongue. 'What's it telling you on this occasion?'

'That perhaps the heart isn't quite as stupid as its reputation suggests.'

She smiled wryly at him. 'Hardly a glowing commendat-'

Before she could finish her sentence, he had closed the space between them, and his lips were pressed against hers. His kiss had none of the desperation that Severus's had, but all of its warmth and tenderness. His mouth felt achingly familiar and yet somehow utterly new. He broke the kiss far too soon for her liking.

'Are you satisfied now, Hermione?' he asked, his voice rough around the edges.

She blinked, waiting for the room to quit spinning. 'What do you mean?'

He sighed impatiently. 'Gryffindors. You previously expressed hope for a sign that it was me you loved, and not simply a book with a penchant for mind-reading. One hopes you are not so lacking in empathy as to keep in suspense one so recently reconciled with his heart.'

She raised her eyes to his face, gazing in turn at each of his stubborn, sharp features, and weighing in her mind everything she knew about this infuriating man against what she knew of his heart. 'I think,' she began slowly, 'that one should approach such decisions scientifically. While our previous experimentation has been enormously successful, I suggest for the sake of reproducibility, we widen our sample before attempting to draw any conclusions.'

He stared at her in disbelief for a moment, then gathered her into his arms, holding her tightly against him, his hands gently stroking her back and hair, as if afraid of breaking her. She could hear his heart hammering in his chest, and rather than speak he pressed his lips to the top of her head, which sent a shudder through her radiating out from the epicentre where his lips had touched her.

Her breath caught in her throat, and he loosened his hold enough to look down into her face. His eyes were shining again, though he cleared his throat gruffly. 'In that case, I think it would be wise to discuss our future research plans. Perhaps after dinner at Chateau de Malfoy?'

The spark of wicked humour in his eye made her suspicious. 'You're not only inviting me to dinner to vex Narcissa, are you?'

A ghost of a smile lifted the corner of his mouth as he kissed her forehead. 'Slytherin lesson number one: we never have only one motive.'

They managed to extricate themselves from the Room of Lost Dreams after only half an hour's additional experimentation. Hermione was in her room changing out of her Weasley jumper, and Severus was shrouded in his Invisibility Cloak, waiting for her by the dancing troll tapestry.

The prima ballerina troll tottered to the edge of the tapestry nearest him. 'Glad to see you whole again,' she said, propping an overlarge foot on the barre and stretching gracelessly. 'Not that I'd have let you in if you weren't.'

'I suppose I have you to thank for this,' grumbled Severus.

'All in a century's work, dearie' said the troll, cheekily. 'I knew she'd be able to set you right. Another happily ever after for me!'

'We're only going to dinner. Isn't your cackling a bit premature?'

'Silly boy. I see what's in you both. It's one of the perks of being a Doorkeeper.'

'Then why didn't you refuse me entry when you knew my heart was vulnerable?'

The troll began a series of increasingly lower _plies_. 'Sometimes you need to lose something for a while in order to appreciate it when it returns.'

'It could have been lost to me forever.'

She paused in her _plies_ to point at herself. 'Doorkeeper, remember? I feel the death of every dream that comes to live in my room forever. Your desire to be loved in return was never one of those. All right, it made a few dramatic entrances and exits, but that's how I knew someone would come for your heart one day.'

Severus snorted. 'You mean to say you knew that in twenty years a student mad enough to love me would arrive at Hogwarts?'

'It was only a matter of time,' said the troll primly.

'Clotilde!' came a grunting voice from across the tapestry. 'Quit your blithering and get over here!'

She sighed. 'Wulfgar's so demanding these days. Did you ever know Wulfgar? He's in charge of the Room of Requirement. Still, it's a welcome return to form. That Longbottom boy taxed him awfully by living in there for months with his little gang. So many demands to keep straight! Wulfgar hardly had the strength to rehearse our _pas de deux_ and he kept dropping me.'

'My heart bleeds for you,' said Severus blandly.

'Rude, isn't he?' commented another female troll, whose tutu was blackened around the edges.

'He's all right, Blumengarde. Recently reacquainted with his heart, that's all.'

'I ought to be put out that it was in your room and not mine,' said Blumengarde with a scowl. 'Hidden Things are my jurisdiction, not yours.'

'Don't mind her,' said Clotilde to Severus. 'She's just put out because all her Hidden Things got razed by Fiendfyre.'

'That collection was centuries old!' wailed Blumgenarde.

'You'll have centuries to rebuild it to twice its splendour, I'm sure,' said Clotilde comfortingly. 'Now, be a dear and let the rest of the _corps_ know that we'll be starting from the top after Wulfgar and I run our bit in the second act.'

'Clotilde! Dance with me now before I club you!' shouted Wulfgar, stomping his foot. 

Clotilde's cheeks were pink. 'He does so love Requiring me to do things. Enjoy yourself, dearie. I don't want to see any of your dreams in my Room again.'

Severus glanced down the hall and saw Hermione walking very quickly towards him. She was wearing something made of pewter-coloured silk that fluttered about her ankles. Her face was lit with a dazzling smile, and Severus felt an odd sort of ache in his chest.

'I rather suspect you won't,' he murmured to the tapestry.

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THE END

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Notes: Come now, surely you suspected the trolls! Enormous thanks to Mr. 42, the best beta-reader, idea bouncee, and inventor of Germanic sounding names in the entire world. I don't know where I'd be without your skill, patience, and support! Thanks to Maliciouspixie5 for allowing me to run roughshod all over her prompt and to shiv5468, ginnyweasley31, scatteredlogic, mollyssister, southernwitch69, and keladrylupin for all their hard work at the exchange. You ladies make the world go'round!


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